"Hey, doc, have a rock."

Peter Venkman, Ph.D, gave a start of surprise as a hand reached over his shoulder and waved a bright blue stone in his face. Whirling he felt his heart sink in dismay. Of all the people he hoped never to see in his surreptitious run to The Olde Curio Shoppe, (Occult Items Par Excellence) the one he'd put at the top of his list was Edgar Benedek. Journalist Edgar Benedek. Reporter for the National Register, that supermarket tabloid. Ordinarily Peter would have ignored the Register--and Benny--entirely, but Benny had a fondness for paranormal stories. He had attached himself to Georgetown Institute's paranormal research team, much to the dismay of the Institute, but Georgetown was in Washington and Benny lived in New York. So he filled in his spare time when not out chasing shadows with his professor buddy Jonathan MacKensie or writing Hanz Holzer-type ghost stories by digging up the dirt on the Ghostbusters and publicizing them. Normally Peter loved publicity and he wouldn't have minded Benny so much, but Egon hated coverage from the Register and had informed Peter that if there was so much as a whiff of a story in future issues, Peter's name would be mud.

So he waved the rock away. "Sorry, Benedek, not interested. Go find a rock hound."

"Hey, then I'll track down your pop. He has an eye for great stories."

Peter groaned, thinking with horror of the problems sure to arise if Edgar Benedek should encounter Peter's con man father. The last time they'd run into each other had been bad enough, and it had been left for Peter to pick up the pieces. "I wouldn't, Benny. I know how to use a thrower, remember?"

"All too well." He offered the rock again with a wry grin. "Here you go, Venkster. This is what you came in here for, isn't it?"

"Blue rocks? I don't think so. I've got more than my share of rocks in my head already--or so Egon keeps saying."

"You're leveling with me, right? You never heard of ectometer stones," Benny replied in open astonishment. "Give me a break here. Don't tell me you Ghostbusters don't use ectometer stones? And all of you scientists! I can see a great story in all this." He waved the stone over Peter's chest and it flickered a little and turned slightly mauve. "Aha! I detect the residue of ectoplasm," exulted Benny. "It's yours, buds. Take it back and give it to Mr. Haircut. He'll have fun analyzing it." He pressed the rock into Peter's reluctant hand.

Venkman had no trouble identifying 'Mr. Haircut' as his colleague, Egon Spengler. Peter could imagine Egon's reaction to the entire concept of 'ectometer stones' but Ray would probably get a kick out of it--he liked weird things like that--so Peter took the rock reluctantly. Probably sensitive to body heat. It wasn't the gift he'd come in here to buy for Ray's birthday though, but he'd play along with Benny's gag for the moment. He could stick it in with the main present. "Okay, let's see how it works. If there's anything ectoplasmic in here, this should pick up on it, right?"

"You bet, Petey-boy. Wave it around. If it picks up anything really hot it'll turn bright red. Give it a go."

Wondering how Benny had doctored the rock, Peter moved it over a row of Buddha-like statues, some of jade, some of other stone that Peter didn't recognize. The mauve faded back to blue. Benny shook his head and clucked his teeth. "Come on, guy, give it a go. I bet your disbelief is inhibiting the stone--and you a Ghostbuster. Shame on you."

Peter shifted to another shelf, determined to prove to Benny that whatever chemical he'd treated the stone with didn't fool him. He passed the stone over another row of figures that looked pre-Columbian, one a slightly battered figure of a character with a big nose, a patterned helmet or turban, a huge, round earring in the one ear that hadn't broken off and thick lips right below the nose. Only the head was left, but it looked valid. The minute the ectometer stone touched it, the stone turned bright red before Peter's astonished eyes. There couldn't really be something to it, could there? Nah... But still...

"Bingo!" cried Benny. "It works. I told you."

Peter snatched up the little statue. It was probably a copy, but just in case it was real Ray might like it. If it was genuinely pre-Columbian, it might be worth something. Peter hauled it and the bright red stone up to the counter and paid the clerk while Benny kept up a running commentary in the background. The statue was more than Peter had wanted to pay, though just under the top limit he'd set for himself, and he wondered sourly how much of a kickback Benny would get for it. Shaking off the persistent journalist, he left the Curio Shoppe and grabbed a cab, waving Benny away when he looked like he intended to join Peter in the taxi. "Ghostbuster Central," he told the cab driver and leaned back against the seat, relieved to have escaped so lightly. When Benny was involved there was often trouble. This time, he'd managed to escape before the worst could happen.

*****

Once back at headquarters, Peter retreated to his ground floor office to examine his find. Ray would get a kick out of it, but before he wrapped it, Peter wanted to run a real test on it. He pulled a P.K.E. meter out of the bottom drawer of his desk, glad Janine was at lunch and wouldn't come in to see him making an idiot of himself over it.

The meter kicked in immediately, and Peter studied the readings. He wasn't as up on this kind of thing as Egon and Ray were, but he knew enough to understand the different classes of ghosts, and he could tell these readings had a negative valence. Usually when that happened, it indicated a corporeal entity rather than a real ghost, like the Bogeyman, but this was only a statue. Or was it.

Peter ran his fingers over the stone. "I wonder what you really are," he said aloud. "Possessed? Haunted? Ray is gonna have so much fun with this." With a gloating smile he continued to stroke his find.

All of a sudden, the statue flared with bright golden light and the next moment it was hot to his touch. Peter stared at the carved figurine in disbelief, wondering what kind of scam Benny was trying to perpetrate on him. He'd more or less guided Peter right to the statue and now it was doing something weird. Suspicious, Peter stood up and peered over the top of the filing cabinets that separated his office from the rest of the ground floor, half afraid Benny had followed him and was waiting to spring the trap. The ground floor was deserted, the door safely closed.

Ectometer stones and red-hot statues were a little out of the Ghostbuster's usual style, even if Benny had a hand in them. As he tried to puzzle it out, the statue pulsed beneath his touch and Peter dropped it on his desk, gaping at it in surprise as a thickening mist started to ooze out of it. Gathering and forming into a quasi-human shape, it hovered over his desk, growing thicker and thicker as more mist burst out. Peter scratched his head as it solidified and condensed, taking on a more and more human appearance. It was female! Peter's mouth dropped open in stunned delight. For a female ghost, it was pretty attractive, too.

Then as he continued to gape, it condensed still further, changing before his eyes from a female-shaped cloud into a solid presence. With a final pop, it assumed its real shape, and dropped six inches onto his desk with a thud.

She was solid! Peter's mouth still hanging open, he studied her. Clad in a form fitting blouse and baggy pants that didn't quite match this season's style, she presented an anachronistic appearance, making Peter wonder how long she had been confined in the stone. She was pretty, too, with long brown wavy hair, wide brown eyes and a touch of freckles that should have given her a slightly tomboyish look but didn't. He liked the look of her. It didn't take much for Peter to be smitten, and the woman's bizarre and mysterious arrival only added to her appeal. Curious, he reached out a cautious finger and prodded her arm. Warm, living flesh responded to the investigation.

As he touched her, she jerked her head around, temper filling her face, her eyes sparkling with wrath. "You're gonna pay for this, Jones," she spat, one hand curling into a fist and starting to swing at him. Peter caught her wrist quickly. "Easy, easy. Let's not damage Dr. Venkman."

The woman broke off in mid-tirade when she took in her surroundings and Peter watching her expectantly. "You're not Jones," she snapped, as if it were completely his fault, and yanked her wrist free of his grip. Fortunately, she displayed no further hostile tendencies, at least not physical ones. "I'm gonna kill him when I see him, but that doesn't mean I won't kill you first." She scrambled to the edge of the desk and sat there, her legs dangling, her hands clenching into fists again as if it wouldn't take much provocation for her to start slugging away.

"She's got spirit," observed Peter to the atmosphere. "I like that in a woman. No, I'm not Jones. The name's Venkman, Peter Venkman. I just freed you from that statue."

She looked down at the desk and the little pre-Columbian figure lying there. Snatching it up, she glowered at it. "This is what I was doing a minute ago. Jones found this and brought it home and I picked it up. Next thing I know, I'm here. What kind of trick is this?"

"I wouldn't touch it if I were you," Peter cautioned, knocking it from her hand. It landed on the floor and he poked it cautiously with his toe, shoving it to one side where he wouldn't step on it by accident. "It's got some kind of supernatural properties, if it could confine you all over again. You came out of it in a mist and then turned solid. Are you okay? Not hurt or anything?"

Her belligerence eased slightly at the obvious concern in his voice, then she stiffened her resolve. "I don't know why I should tell you anything. You've got the statue. What have you done to Jones? This is all a plot, isn't it? Probably some kind of Nazi scheme. Did Hitler put you up to this?"

"Hitler?" echoed Peter doubtfully, her question confirming his original guess, that she'd been stuck in there some time. "Sorry to break it to you, lady, but Hitler croaked a lot of years ago. Unless you're up on the theory that he's went to South America. Somewhere down there is a ninety five year old guy with a funny little mustache, having a ball at carnival." When she narrowed her eyes and made a threatening gesture, he eased up. "Hitler died in 1945," he said. "This is 1990. He's been gone a long time, so unless you think it's his ghost doing it, there's no way. And I think I'd remember if we'd ever busted Hitler's ghost."

"Nineteen ninety?" she echoed, for the first time a flicker of fear touching her eyes. "You're lying, and let me tell you, buster, I've had to face a lot worse creeps than you, so don't try telling me any tall tales, right?"

"Okay, sure, lady. Look." He grabbed yesterday's paper which was lying folded on one of the chairs and waved it in front of her eyes. "Look. April, 1990. And look at this." He snatched a psych book and opened it to show her the copyright. It was fairly recent; 1987. "See. Times have passed. What year did you decide to snooze in the middle of a statue?"

She slid off the desk and stood facing him as if at bay. "It can't be 1990," she insisted. "You set this up. You rigged this room. If this is really 1990, take me out of this room and prove it."

"Sure," agreed Peter affably. He took her arm, but wasn't surprised when she pulled free and stalked past him. The sight of the garage level with Ecto-1 sitting there stopped her cold and she advanced on the venerable vehicle suspiciously, leaning down to peer in the drivers' side window, her eyes widening at the controls.

Abruptly she pushed away from Ecto and went to the door, flinging it open and looking out at the traffic that passed, all of it more modern than she had expected if she were from the '30s or '40s. For a long moment, she stared, then she said, "If I'm not a prisoner, you'd let me walk away, wouldn't you?"

"You're not a prisoner," Peter replied, seeing the fractional slumping of her shoulders and feeling sorry for her. "You can go if you like. But where would you go? I didn't bring you here. I just handled the statue and that must have released you. I don't know whether there was a time delay or whether your Jones never handled the stone, but rubbing it on its own must not be enough to break the spell or whatever it was."

"Some kind of native curse," she agreed readily. "Jones found it in Central America. It was supposed to go in the museum." Her eyes widened. "I've gotta find Jones."

Peter reached out and took her arm again, and this time she didn't yank free. "Better come back inside and maybe we can find out what happened," he said.

His quiet words cut through her preoccupation. "Nineteen ninety," she breathed. "He'd be--oh, god, he'd be ninety one. Unless--unless the statue took him, too."

"Maybe, lady, but I don't think we should try to find out until we take some readings. I was getting a pretty high negative valence off the P.K.E. meter right before I rubbed the stone and you popped out like a genie out of a lamp. Hey! You don't grant wishes, do you?"

"Sure, buster. I'll let you live. But only if you quit calling me 'lady.' My name's Marian Ravenwood."

"Peter Venkman," he repeated. "Dr. Peter Venkman."

"Big deal. Doctor of what? Jones has his degree in archaeology. So you've got a doctorate. My father had one, too."

"Sorry. I didn't know I was in the midst of a convention," Peter replied. "I've got two degrees. Psychology and Parapsychology."

Her eyebrows lifted. "Parapsychology? That's a new one on me."

Peter stared, then he realized her time frame was different. "Psychical research," he explained.

"Oh, ghost weirdos," she answered. "Table tipping and spirit photography and mediums. They give degrees for fraud in 1990, do they?"

"FRAUD!" snapped Peter, then he realized she didn't know any better. She'd never seen Gozer nearly wreck the Big Apple. She'd probably never seen a ghost. "You never experienced anything supernatural?" he prodded.

She opened her mouth to deny it, then she snapped it shut again. For a moment, her eyes flickered with a struggle, then she said reluctantly, "Once."

Peter was interested, but before he could pursue it, there was a clatter of feet on the stairs, and Ray cried, "Hey, Peter, Egon just picked up a major P.K.E. surge. Did anything happen down here?"

"Well, you could say that, Ray." Peter guided Marian over to meet him, trying for a minute to picture Ray as she must be seeing him, a short, slightly stocky man with auburn hair and a face glowing with near-childlike enthusiasm. When he saw her, he stopped. "Oh, gosh, Peter, I didn't know you had company. I'm sorry. It's just that it was nearly off the scale for a minute and then it went down to nothing again, just residual energy fading away. If Egon and I hadn't been working on fine tuning one of the meters we would have missed it entirely."

"No, I don't think you would have missed it entirely," Peter said with a grin. "Ray, meet Miss P.K.E. surge of 1990." He gestured to Marian Ravenwood.

Ray promptly held up the meter he'd been carrying and passed it over her, eyes widening as the device's antennae stirred faintly. "Wow, you're right, Peter. It's the same reading, but it's fading fast. She's not a ghost, though. She's solid just like you and me."

"He already figured that out," Marian said sarcastically. "He didn't use scientific gizmos to prove it, though. He poked my arm."

"Hey, what can I say. It works." Peter spread his hands deprecatingly. "You're gonna love this, Ray. She came out of a pre-Columbian statue. First she was mist then it shaped into a woman and then next thing I knew she was on top of my desk."

"This is certainly an unusual way for you to get women, Peter," Egon Spengler observed dryly, coming down the stairs in Ray's wake, trailed by the fourth Ghostbuster, Winston Zeddemore. Egon, too, took a reading of the woman, which seemed to irritate her still further. Peter realized if he'd been shut up in a statue for forty or fifty years, he'd probably be pretty fed up with the world in general, too.

"Back off, guys, and give her a break," he said, planting himself at her side. "She got shut up in that thing when Hitler was still running around and it's gotta be rough on her. Don't scare her off with your scientific fun and games."

The look she threw at Peter was a combination of irritation at being protected when she hadn't asked for it and a faint gratitude that he'd actually done it. She pulled herself to her full height and faced the other three with some defiance.

"Fascinating," said Egon, deep in his Mr. Spock impersonation. "I think we should adjourn to the lab and see if we can solve this problem."

"Don't worry about Egon," Peter told Marian. "He eats, sleeps and breathes pure science, but there's really a human being under all that weird hair."

Egon shot Peter a look that promised retaliation, making Peter grin. He loved it when he could provoke Egon to some bizarre prank. "I'm Dr. Egon Spengler," the physicist told Marian. "Do you know how you were sealed in the stone."

"If it was Jones I'm gonna brain him with a rock as soon as I get back," she snapped, then the color drained from her face. In spite of his scientific demeanor and Ray's fascination, she turned to Peter. "I will get back, won't I?" she demanded, her fingers digging into Peter's forearm.

"Well, that's for Egon to find out," Peter said, instantly covering her hand with his own. "That's why we keep him, that and the fact that he keeps saving our lives." He grinned wickedly at Egon for a moment and saw the answering amusement in the blond man's blue eyes, then he turned back to Marian. "If there's a way to beat this thing, we'll do it. You've got the best team in the business on your side. We're the Ghostbusters!"

"Ghostbusters?" An edge of scorn crept into her voice. "You were starting to tell me about it."

"And you were going to tell me about your own occult experience," Peter reminded her. "Open minds work best. Don't knock it until you see it work. Besides, we'll introduce you to Slimer."

"Slimer?" she echoed.

"Slimer. Where is the Spud, Ray?"

"He was hanging out in the lab," Winston remarked. "Don't we get an introduction to your lady friend, Pete?"

"Sorry. This is Marian Ravenwood, the lady who pops out of rocks. Egon you've met. Typical mad scientist. Maybe they should have called him Igor." Peter pantomimed the typical horror film's hunchback assistant. Egon swatted him lightly on the side of the head.

"Behave, Peter."

"I always behave, Egon." He grinned. "And this is Ray Stantz, boy scientist extraordinaire. You name it, Ray will invent it. He can probably whip up a time machine before breakfast."

"Well, not before breakfast, Peter," Ray protested, beaming at the praise. "But maybe--gosh, Egon, do you think we really could?"

"It will take some study," Egon replied. "Interesting. I have several theories I have never explored. Perhaps if I read those papers on the Beckett-LoNigro string theory again, and then there was that project in the 60's--what were their names? Phillips and Newton--no, Newman, I think..."

"Well, he's off in the clouds," Peter told Marian, grabbing Winston's arm and pulling him over. "This is Winston Zeddemore. He's the one that keeps us on solid ground."

"Hi, Miss Ravenwood," Winston greeted her. "Pete does some of that himself, but he doesn't usually like us to say so. Don't worry, you haven't landed in a hotbed of lunatics. We usually know what we're doing here."

"More or less," Peter replied with a grin.

Marian studied him a minute then turned to each of the others, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she wanted badly to believe they had perpetrated a hoax but couldn't quite manage it. She scanned the room, noting things like the shape of the telephone, the furniture and wall fixtures, everything that was slightly different from her own time. Her eyes drifted from Winston's Jaguars' tee shirt, to Egon's elaborately coifed blond hair with the tail in back, and one eyebrow lifted just a little. "I've got it," she said at last.

"Great. One of us has," Peter replied, noticing a wicked twinkle in her eyes and wanting to encourage it. "What is it you've got anyway."

"I've got the four of you figured out," she concluded pointing at each of them in turn. "Flopsy," she said, her finger stabbing at Ray. "Mopsy." That was Winston. "Cottontail." And she gestured at Egon's hair. "And Peter."

Egon put up a hand to touch his hair, his dignity affronted, but Peter couldn't hold back his mirth. He gave a crow of delighted laughter. "Bingo," he agreed. "Right on the money."

"Really, Peter," Egon said stiffly.

Now Ray was chuckling too. "Peter's right," he said, beginning to laugh as well.

Marian smiled, well pleased with her words. She added, "So what can you do to help me go home?"

"I'm sure 'Cottontail' here will find an answer," Peter replied reassuringly, nudging Egon with his elbow and ignoring the baleful blue gaze Egon flung at him. "Let's go to the lab and see."

*****

"Ghost?" Slimer asked dubiously, hovering in the air in front of Marian Ravenwood. "Not ghost? Almost ghost?" He scratched his head in a parody of one of Egon's gestures and circled around the astonished woman in ever-narrowing circles until he was virtually nose to nose with her. Peter gave her a lot of credit for not freaking at the sight. Instead she glared back, determined not to give ground.

"All right, so it's a ghost," she said. "Or some weird kind of thing." She touched Slimer cautiously, ignoring his frown at being called weird, then pulled back her hand, looking at the slime without enthusiasm. "I suppose that's ectoplasm. I could have lived my whole life without knowing what it felt like."

"Then hope he doesn't take a fancy to you," said Peter with a grin. "He likes to hug and kiss people."

Her eyes flashed as if she weren't sure if she were being teased or not.

"No, this is interesting," Egon spoke abruptly. "Slimer, you seem confused. Does she seem like a ghost to you?"

Slimer pondered it, and when Slimer pondered, he did it with exaggerated gestures, pounding on the top of his head, scratching his chin, spinning around in circles. Finally he drifted over to Egon and shook his head. "Slimer doesn't know."

"That helps a lot," said Peter wryly.

"No, it does help, Peter," objected Ray. He had been fiddling with a series of devices, including donning the Ecto-scopes and regarding Marian through the polarized lenses. "There's a kind of overlay that might be confused with an psi residue. That must be what's confusing Slimer. Why don't you tell us what happened? Maybe it will make more sense then?"

"Well, it all started with Edgar Benedek," Peter remembered.

Egon groaned. "I should have known. It's a trick."

"Benny may be a charlatan," Peter replied, sitting beside Marian on the couch and giving her a reassuring grin, "but even he couldn't pull off what I saw down there. He was playing games with something called ectometer stones."

Egon groaned again. "Those things? I've seen them before. Somebody dreamed up the idea in an experiment once--I think it was at M.I.T. but I could be remembering incorrectly. It was a gag for a paper someone tried to foist off on an unsuspecting professor. You coat normal stones with certain chemical treatments and for a time they can alter colors in the presence of ectoplasmic residue. It's rather the same principle as litmus paper, only geared for ghosts. It's not reliable--some of them were treated incorrectly and they can't be counted on, but occasionally they give off fairly accurate readings for a short period. You didn't buy into them, did you, Peter? If you'd read my reports occasionally--"

"Chill, Egon," Peter replied, now knowing more about ectometer stones than he'd ever wanted to, and wondering deep down inside if Egon might not have had more to do with this prank than he was admitting, not that he would have ever dreamed of submitting a phony paper. That wasn't Egon's way. "The thing lit up like a beacon when it touched the statue, so I bought it as a present for Tex here." He grinned at Ray. "I didn't know it was going to do a genie-in-a-lamp trick and produce a beautiful woman. For once I must be doing something right."

Marian shot him a look that was halfway between exasperation and amusement, but her eyes warmed ever so slightly. Peter gave himself a mental pat on the back. He was really drawn to Marian, and the fact of her arriving mysteriously out of the past only added to her allure.

"Let's see the statue." Egon held out his hand for it.

"I left it on the floor," Peter replied. "I didn't know--it sucked Marian in. I didn't want to risk getting sucked in myself and popping out in 2035."

"Wow, time travel," Ray breathed. "I'll go get it." He bounced up and hurried away, returning quickly with the little figurine held carefully between thumb and forefinger, depositing it on the lab table in front of Egon, who promptly focused in on it single-mindedly. "I think Peter's right," he said. "I took a quick reading and there's power in it. I don't think we should handle it until we can be sure it's safe."

"It's hardly 'safe'," said Marian scornfully. "Jones brought it back from a dig in central America. He has a knack for getting in over his head, though he usually rescues--himself." Her voice faded on the last word. "Oh god, it's 1990. Jones--he might be dead."

Peter instantly slung a comforting arm around her shoulders. "We'll do what we can to get you back," he said. "Is he--well, uh--your boyfriend?"

"Boyfriend?" She considered the word thoughtfully as if she'd never quite regarded him in those terms but suddenly realized other people might. "It's not like that," she added quickly, but Peter wondered if she were only saying that now because she feared she was trapped in 1990 and didn't expect to get back, and to claim affection for Jones was to open herself up to pain. He gave her a gentle squeeze, barely a tightening of his arm muscles really, and she didn't pull away, but neither did she give any other sign of understanding the gesture. Peter was satisfied with it.

"This is interesting," Egon said, looking up from the statue and the calculator that had been engaging him as he took various readings with P.K.E. meter, magnetometer and various other devices that Peter didn't pay as much attention to. "While we have on two occasions experienced time travel ourselves, once as the result of an accident with a ghost trap and once through an unexplained vortex that I, unfortunately, was unable to study, this appears to be an entirely different manifestation. I suspect that this figurine, which appears innocuous on the surface, is really an artifact of great power."

"Wow!" breathed Ray, leaning over Egon's shoulder eagerly. "That's great, Egon! What does it do?"

"As yet I haven't isolated all its functions. It may not be possible to do so. But sometime in the past, an entity of great power imbued this figurine with some of that same power for its own purposes. Without further study it won't be possible to determine if the entity were a ghost or demon of a high classification or simply a powerful human who learned how to do it."

"Whoa! Time out, big guy," Peter cautioned, holding one hand on top of the other in the classic symbol. "You're saying that maybe somebody put a spell on the stone?"

"No, Peter, I don't believe I said that." Egon's eyes sparkled. "What I did say was that the stone was imbued with power. I believe it may be possible that someone has attached a dimensional portal to the stone, or attached the stone to an existing portal."

"Wow!" cried Ray again.

"So what does that mean, exactly?" asked Winston, looking from the stone to Marian and back again.

"And how long is it going to take you to figure it all out?" Peter asked. "I think Marian might like a look at the Big Apple, rather than sitting around watching you boy geniuses play mad scientist. And I'd make a great tour guide."

"Possibly a good idea, Peter," said Egon without looking up from the calculator, into which he was typing figures and symbols. "This will take considerable research. Before you go, however, I would like to take Miss Ravenwood's readings with the various detection devices so I can include them in my equation."

Marian eyed him warily. "And will this let me go home?" she asked, her voice heavy with suspicion.

"Until I complete my studies, there's no way of telling," Egon replied. "But without complete information, there is no chance at all. So if you would permit me..."

Marian caught Peter's eye, lifted one eyebrow and nodded at Egon.

"Hey, relax," he reassured her. "Egon's okay. If he gets too carried away, just give him a poke in the stomach to get his attention."

"Really, Peter," Egon said with pretend huffiness.

"I'll make sure he doesn't go overboard, Peter," Ray promised. "This is really interesting. Gosh, Miss Ravenwood, will you tell us all about your own time?"

"Why do I suddenly feel like a specimen on a tray?" she asked whimsically, then, when Ray's face fell, she smiled at him. "Yes, I'll tell you about it," she promised. "But I don't like any of this. If it turns out to be a trick--well, I can handle myself. I used to run a tavern in Nepal. You don't last long in wild places if you can't handle yourself. And Jones was always getting me into trouble--he got my place burned down and dragged me off to Egypt and the Nazis caught me." She shrugged. "But here I am. So just don't think this lady can't take care of herself."

"I think I'm in love," said Peter sotto voce.

She turned to study him as if he were the specimen on the tray, then she smiled. Peter returned the smile quite happily and went across the hall to put on something a little fancier than his sweats. If he was going to take Marian out to lunch, he had better look the part. Maybe he could get her a 1990 outfit for the occasion. Planning his big day, he found himself humming under his breath.

*****

The other three were still discussing when he returned and none of them paid any attention to his improved wardrobe, though Marian lifted one eyebrow as if to say that she had noticed. He would have been a little happier with her notice if he hadn't detected a quick gleam of amusement in her eyes, quickly suppressed. This was one lady it wouldn't do to assume too much about. She could handle herself very well, and even here, out of time as well as out of place, she didn't seem at a disadvantage. Peter found her all the more interesting for that.

"Wow, Peter!" cried Ray when he saw him. "We've been finding out all sorts of interesting things. The statue is a kind of gateway."

"What to you mean, like a revolving door. You go in and you're stuck until it revolves again?" Peter asked.

"Actually, Peter, that is a rather good analogy," Egon observed in some surprise. "Except perhaps for the 'stuck' part. As near as I can tell, the gateway established on the figurine does work like a revolving door. Miss Ravenwood stepped into it in 1937 and stepped out here. Presumably some of the conditions that allowed it to open were present this time, too. It seems to have been the same time of day when she used the statue, and when you were examining it."

"That's right, because I handled it at the Curio place and the guy wrapped it up, and even Benny touched it, but nothing happened then. Come on, Spengs, do you mean nobody touched it at the same time of day between 1937 and now?"

"Possibly. Perhaps other conditions were required as well. I'm still observing."

"Does that mean if I touched it tomorrow at this time, I could go back to 1937?" asked Marian.

"Too dangerous to risk right now. It's possible, but until we've done further study, we can't take chances."

"But the stone's here, in 1990," Winston objected. "How could she use it to go back to the past?"

"As yet, we don't know that she could," Egon replied. "I'm sorry, Miss Ravenwood, but even if the portal functions like Peter's revolving door theory, we have no guarantees you could be returned to the same place you left. Until we have more certainty, we can't in good conscience risk your life."

"I see." Her shoulders sagged a little, then she caught herself and straightened up. "Okay, Venkman, you said something about showing me the Big Apple. I think it's time I found out if you know how to show a lady a good time." She slid her arm through his, and he found himself admiring her for her guts. If he'd been stranded in the future with no guarantees of ever seeing the guys again, he'd probably be a basket case, but she was handling it with the courage of a lion. He covered her hand with his and guided her to the door.

"Don't wait up, guys," he said breezily. "I'm going to show Marian that guys from 1990 have a lot better ideas about a good time than they did back in the 30s."

*****

"I like your friends," said Marian as they came out on the street and Peter flagged down a taxi.

Praising the guys was as good a way as any to get on Peter's good side, though Marian was there already, and he smiled in response. "Yeah, they're the greatest, aren't they? I've known Egon and Ray since college. Winston came along when we started the business, but he's one of us, too."

"Busting ghosts," she said reflectively. "That's a strange job. I wonder what Jones would think of it."

"Tell me about him," Peter urged. It might do her good to talk about him.

"Jones? He's a tin-plated jerk part of the time--and the rest--" she smiled with sudden warmth, her whole face lighting up. "The rest of the time, he's the most interesting man I ever met. I fell in love with him when I was just a kid, and he took advantage of that, and then I didn't see him again for years--until he showed up in Nepal, wanting something I had. Not the greatest recommendation, is it?" She shook her head. "He's an archaeologist, Indiana Jones."

"Indiana Jones!" echoed Peter. "Even I've heard of him. He's pretty famous. Wrote a few books that Ray and Winston read and really liked."

"He-he's still alive in 1990."

"Last I heard he was," Peter said. "I think he even lives in New York."

"I want to see him," she insisted. Then, abruptly, she shook her head. "No. I don't. I'm here now, and he's old. He--I don't want to see how he got along without me. If he--married someone else..."

Peter couldn't remember if the famous archaeologist was married or not and thought it better not to say so. "If anybody can find a way to send you back, it's Egon. He's the most brilliant man I know, and Ray's not far behind. With those two in your corner, you might walk into his place and see--yourself." He had a pretty good idea it wouldn't happen that way until they reversed the process, if possible, but he didn't want to say so yet. "Anyway, don't you know it's hard on a guy to talk about another guy on a date. I'm going to give you the patented Peter Venkman treatment. A day to remember. What do you say? How about I pick up a special 1990's outfit just for you? Then we'll have dinner someplace special and I'll show you how New York turned out."

She gradually relaxed. "All right. A special day to see New York. It sounds great."

Peter took her to a dress shop that one of his former girlfriends had patronized--and she'd always looked spectacular. Marian looked around with fascination--plainly she liked nice clothes, though her eyes flew open when she saw a price tag. "You'll be bankrupt," she breathed.

"Come on, Marian, I'm famous, remember," Peter teased her. "Besides, everything costs more these days. A loaf of bread is always more than a dollar--"

"For bread? You're joking me."

He shook his head and drew a cross across his chest. "Word of honor. If I told you what it cost annually to maintain just one of our proton packs, you wouldn't believe me. Anyway, never mind. Come on, what do you like? What about this?" He pointed to an elegant green dress displayed on a mannequin. "I bet you'd look sensational in green!"

She appeared in a few minutes wearing the green dress, her hair scooped up and secured on top of her head with a few pins. Spotting herself in the mirror, she preened for a minute then turned to Peter. "What do you think?" Sheer mischief glittered in her eyes. She had to know she looked like a million dollars.

"You'll do," said Peter, pretending to dampen her tone, and she grinned and cuffed his arm. Then, growing serious, she stopped revolving in front of the mirror and met his eyes.

"Are you sure about this?"

He heard another question in her voice, one she hadn't expressed, and responded to it instead of the obvious money one. "Come on, Marian. No obligations. Let's just have a great day. Maybe when we get home, the guys will have figured out how to make the statue work--and we'll send you home looking like a princess. Come on, it'll be fun."

She pursed her lips a minute, a thoughtful look in her eyes, then they warmed. "You are a very nice man," she said, and changed the subject abruptly. "You do know I have to have shoes, a hat, gloves, a handbag..."

"Typical woman," groused Peter, but there was sudden good humor between them, and the laughed and squabbled their way through the shop, getting all the right accessories and even a casual outfit to relax in at home in case the guys needed more time.

"I'm keeping track of this," she said. "Maybe someday I'll even pay you back."

"Like I said, no obligation. Egon'll tell you I love to spend money."

People turned and watched them when they entered the restaurant, and Peter felt great. He was famous and appreciated and he had the most beautiful woman in the room on his arm. He glanced sideways at Marian and saw a sparkle in her eyes. She winked at him, and played up, and she couldn't have done any better if she were a duchess. I'll make the society page tomorrow, Peter thought with sheer delight, enjoying that streak of mischief in her expression. Not only was she tough and feisty, she had a wicked sense of humor. They were in tune, smothering the laughter that threatened to burst out at the room's fascination. Peter brushed lightly at the sleeve of his Armani jacket and nodded condescendingly at the waiter, and he and Marian deliberated speculatively over the entrees--"I tried that once in Paris, a quaint little place on the Left Bank," she murmured, lifting one eye to the waiter as if to query this restaurant's ability to measure up.

"I assure you, Madame, our chef is direct from Paris," he breathed.

"Oh, excellent. Then I'll have that, shall I, darling?" She let her look brush Peter's face, and he suddenly had to struggle to keep from flushing at the warm and intimate tone she produced when she said, 'darling'.

When the waiter had made his dignified way across the room, she pressed both hands to her mouth to stifle giggles. "This is fun," she breathed. "You're a wicked man, Peter Venkman."

"Hey, I try." He grinned. "Anyway, Egon says that all the time--but he doesn't sound like you do."

"I should hope not." That sent them both laughing.

It was a gem of a day. Peter took Marian all over the city, showing her examples of modern technology, and remnants of former glory, including a few places she recognized. They went to the top of the Empire State Building and looked at the vista spread out below them, and he and Marian leaned side by side on the rail in companionable silence. "Overdressed tourists," Peter pointed out, nodding at some of the people who were up there with them, festooned with cameras especially a dozen Japanese tourists, who ran from corner to corner, pointing down at the city, exclaiming, and snapping pictures for posterity. "I should get an "I New York" tee shirt to take back with you. And maybe a newspaper from today so you can show it to people and prove where you were." As soon as he mentioned going back, they both grew silent and looked at each other. He didn't know what was going through her head, but he could read his own feelings pretty well. He didn't want her to go back.

She put her hand on his arm. "I'm not a real tourist, Peter."

"Sure you are. You're a 1990 tourist. Come on, there's lots of places we haven't seen yet. Do you like dancing? Let's make an entire day of it. I'll call the guys and tell them we're going dancing."

"See if they've learned anything," she urged.

"I will."

*****

"What do you think, Egon?" Ray asked. "Can we send her back?"

"If you mean, can we design a working time machine, Ray, the answer is no, at least not unless we give up Ghostbusting and concentrate on it exclusively for at least five years, and even then, we would have no guarantee of success. I, for one, would rather continue as we are than do that."

"Then what will we do?" asked Winston. He studied Egon's pages of notes and computer print outs. "We're gonna help her, aren't we? You've got some plan, don't you, homeboy?"

"It needs more research. I suspect Peter had more of the right idea than he realized when he asked if the statue was like a revolving door." The physicist gestured at the stack of books Ray had spread around the room. "What we're dealing with here appears to be something other than a curse or spell upon the statue."

"Yeah, I think it's a dimensional portal," said Ray. "A special kind of gateway. We'd be able to pick up residual energy if it were a spell, I think, and not the kind we're getting now. This is too much like something that exists but is just powered down rather than something that's run its course."

"Slimer thought she was like a ghost," argued Winston. "Wasn't he picking up on just that kind of thing?"

"He knew something was different about her," agreed Egon. "But hardly what. Slimer can sense other ghosts, and he can sense different kinds of power, but it's one thing we haven't really trained him to do with any efficiency."

"It'd be great to do that," said Ray with a big grin. "Think of how helpful that would be. But Slimer's usually scared of nasty ghosts. He'd be more apt to run away than to hang around and give us readings. Still, I think I'll see what I can do with him when I get a chance. He learns a lot faster than I ever thought he would."

"True, but that's not what matters right now." Egon took off his glasses and polished them thoughtfully, a tactic he used when he wasn't certain of the right answer but didn't like to admit it. "There are several possible theories, all fascinating, and the statue itself is what concerns me. The readings have faded since Miss Ravenwood arrived. If it is her only possible return home, then it may be impossible to return her if we don't do it quickly."

The alarm bell rang, and the three of them put away their equipment and started down the stairs to the ground floor where Janine was waiting. Ray hurried over to join her. "What is it, Janine?" he asked eagerly, always ready to enjoy his work, even when he was busy with something else, or even when it was dangerous in the extreme. "A full torso apparition? A free roaming vapor?"

"Trouble," Janine replied, frowning and holding out three work sheets. "All at once we're getting a lot of calls. Mostly little things, like class twos, but more than usual. I scheduled some of them for tomorrow and later in the week because none of them sound very threatening, but it's weird to get a lot of them like that." She looked up at Egon with that expression that came just short of batting her eyes at him. "I bet you know what it's all about, Egon."

Egon and Ray exchanged a very meaningful glance, and Winston frowned. "I don't think I like that look, guys. What's wrong?"

"This is what we might expect," Egon replied, pulling out his ever-present pocket calculator and entering some figures quickly, "if Miss Ravenwood has come through a portal--a portal with ties at both ends of time."

"Wow!" cried Ray eagerly. "That means we can send her back, doesn't it, Egon?"

"It means there's a possibility, Ray, no more. It also means danger."

"Whoa. Back up a second. Time out." Winston jumped in front of Egon and held up his hands, one on top of the other. "Just a second, big guy. If this statue is a portal to another time, and now we've got a bunch of nasty little goopers you're implying came through the portal, why didn't they pop out in the lab while we were running tests?"

"Yeah, Egon," Ray replied. "Unless--"

"I don't think I like the sound of that," Winston said with resignation, exchanging a grin with Janine, who stood near Egon, arms folded across her chest.

"Okay, think of this," Ray went on, gathering speed as he went. "Remember when that trap accident sucked us back to 1959?"

"Which should have been theoretically impossible," Egon returned. Even after that little trip, Egon had maintained that something more than the trap and the power bleed off had been at work to make them shift in time, and Ray had nodded in ready agreement and added, "But we went, Egon, so something had to make it happen."

Egon winced at the memory. "I don't like it, Ray," he replied. "I don't like it when I can't document the whys and wherefores of a case. But leave that for now. What are you getting at?"

"Remember all those ghosts we managed to drag with us back to 1959?" Ray went on, his words nearly tripping over themselves in his excitement. "They didn't all pop out in the basement of the firehouse, and they didn't all come through the trap. They came through because the barriers between our time and 1959 were weakened by the opening of the doorway. I bet this is like that. They'll come through in the general vicinity of the gateway because that's where the time barriers have weakened, but most of them wouldn't come through the statue. I think we'd better put the statue into a trap for now in case something big and nasty wants to come through."

"Hmm," said Egon as he pondered Ray's theory. "You could well be right, Raymond. After all, we've long theorized that the coming of Gozer weakened dimensional walls in the Tri-State area and that's why we have so many ghosts here now. Even though we forced Gozer back into the other realm, the dimensional walls are still thin enough for lots of specters and spirits to pass them with impunity."

"You mean that lady Peter took dancing is the cause of all this?" Janine asked. "She's really from 1937?"

Egon nodded. "Yes, and she must return there without further delay." He drew himself up abruptly. "Janine, don't schedule any more calls today unless they're dire emergencies. We have a great deal of work to do." He started for the stairs and then paused to stare over his shoulder. "Well, come on, guys," he urged.

"Should we warn Peter about all the ghosts?" Ray asked.

"If you know where he is, telephone him," Egon replied. "Otherwise, we'll have to wait for him to return home--unless, of course, we determine how best to send Miss Ravenwood home. Then we'll track him down." He hurried up the steps and Winston and Ray followed him.

*****

This was the life! Peter Venkman smiled to himself in sheer bliss. He really liked Marian Ravenwood. She was funny, she was brave, and she had plenty of spunk--and she was like a feather in his arms when they danced. He felt comfortable with her and had almost from the first, and their afternoon together was proving one of unalloyed delight. In New York, you could always find a good place to dance, no matter the time of day or night, and Peter had brought her here after their dinner. They fell into their role of 'somebody important--guess who' as soon as they arrived and both of them enjoyed the speculation from the other people in the bar. Though the actual band didn't start playing until seven, there was jukebox music for dancing, and Peter had put in a stack of quarters, dancing the old dances with Marian and then teaching her some of the newer ones. He decided that with a woman like her, the kind of dancing they'd called 'slow dancing' back in high school was the nicest, because then he could put his arms around her. The woman who had tried to punch him out at first meeting went into his hold as if it were her natural place.

In the background, somebody screamed. At first Peter didn't even register the sound, so caught up was he in the exaggerated tale he was whispering in Marian's ear, but then it was repeated, and he pulled back a little and looked around. "Oh, shit," he muttered to himself.

Marian followed his gaze. Hovering above the dance floor were two pale green little goopers, surveying the dancers with malevolent eyes. Peter was pretty sure they weren't more than class twos, but even class twos could be nasty--and they could throw things.

"Ghosts," she breathed. "Before I came here I only saw ghosts for a few seconds before Jones told me not to look. They're everywhere here."

"And me without my pack," Peter lamented. Heaving a sigh, he put himself between Marian and the spirits, stuck two fingers in his mouth and uttered a piercing whistle. "Yo! Ghosts! What are you doing here?" he demanded. "You want to take on a Ghostbuster!"

That drew their attention to him and they stared down at him with wide, curious eyes. They were no bigger than footballs, one slightly larger than the other. Pale green and near-transparent, each had a head and instead of a body, one long arm where their necks should have been. Peter knew that class twos could be dangerous, because even if they weren't very powerful, they could throw things. He hoped they didn't get any bright ideas because the room was full of handy, portable items just right for whacking innocent Ghostbusters.

The other patrons of the club had begun to scatter at the first sign of the ghosts, but when they'd heard Peter announce he was a Ghostbuster, they'd stopped their run. Those that hadn't already edged out the front door or vanished in the direction of the kitchen precincts now began to creep closer again, ready to watch one of the city's Paranormal Eliminators in action--and here was Peter without a weapon at all. He wished he'd listened harder when Ray had been going on last week about the ordinary household appliances that could be converted with only slight effort into ghost traps, but Ray was always theorizing like that, and while Peter encouraged him to talk, he didn't always listen to the words so much as he did to Ray's eager delight in his work. Egon, of course, always noted the meaning of Ray's theories and registered the possibilities for later, but Egon and Ray were the techie side of the team and Peter approached it from the side of 'soft' science. Still, that left him with his best weapon, his mouth. Maybe he could talk these nasties into going away.

Out of the corner of his mouth, he whispered to Marian, "Go on, get out of here! Call the guys and get them over here. I can't catch them without my pack." As long as she was with him, he would need to protect her, too, but if he could get her outside to safety until the guys came, he could deal with these recalcitrant goopers on his own. He hoped.

She hesitated, unwilling to leave his side, and he gave her a little shove. "I'll watch your back. Come on, there's a lot of people in here." Even as he spoke he realized there were fewer than he'd imagined. The eager crowd was a small percentage of the original number of people in the bar. There were always idiots ready to stand in the face of danger so they wouldn't miss something exciting. Peter suspected if the news announced a 300 foot tidal wave at Atlantic City, people would rush to the Boardwalk complete with video cameras, to record the event for posterity.

"They don't look so bad," she whispered back. "What are you going to do? You don't have your equipment?"

"I've got my smart mouth," Peter returned with a big grin. "Besides, they're worse than they look. They may not be very big, but they can throw things--and there's a lot of potential material for them to throw in here. Something has pissed them off, and I don't think they're just gonna go tamely away. Come on, give me some elbow room, lady." He favored her with the patented Venkman smile, the most sincere one he'd learned from his con-man father's repertoire, and nudged her slightly toward the pay phone. "Call the guys. Tell them to get right over here."

This time she went, and Peter didn't know whether it was the smile or the sense of his words that had done it, but whichever it was, he was glad it had. As soon as she'd achieved the shelter of the corridor that led to the telephone, Peter turned back to the ghosts. "Okay, slimefaces, it's just you and me. Are you sure you want to take on Dr. Venkman."

Somebody in the crowd started chanting, "Ghostbusters! Ghostbusters!" and a few of the others picked up on it and echoed him. The ghosts muttered to themselves, conferring in noisy if confusing whispers, then they dove straight down at the customers, who gave ground readily, retreating to the bar itself and sheltering behind it. Once they'd cleared the area that ringed the dance floor, it gave the ghosts access to the tables and chairs. Peter hoped they hadn't heard him suggesting as much to Marian, but maybe they'd have thought it up on their own. Now they swooped lower. The bigger of the two grabbed one of the four-legged tables and zipped back toward the ceiling holding it aloft as it might have held a club. The smaller one grabbed a chair and joined its crony. The tables and chairs were wicker and not very heavy, but Peter was pretty sure they'd hurt a lot if he should be whacked over the head with one of them.

Leaning over the railing he grabbed a chair himself and retreated to the middle of the dance floor, bracing himself to defend himself, balanced on the balls of his feet, ready to dart in any direction, when the ghosts attacked. Maybe they just wanted to make threatening noises from the ceiling. Well, at least he could hope that was all they wanted to do.

His forlorn hope proved wrong. With a sudden babble of angry voices the two spooks attacked, diving at Peter and swinging their wicker weapons at his head. He fended them off with the chair as best he could, diverting their blows, ducking aside, darting here and there to avoid them. The patrons hiding behind the bar had long since vanished and Marian was nowhere to be seen, which made Peter relax a little. The last thing he wanted to do was haul her into trouble with him.

The two ghosts attacked him in concert, always coming in together, which made it heavy going but easier than if they'd chosen to approach from opposite directions. He hoped that never occurred to them.

This was heavy going. He could dance all night without the least trace of fatigue, and while a proton pack got pretty heavy after awhile, a thrower was neither as heavy nor as awkward as the wicker chair he now used to fight off the ghost. To compensate for any show of exhaustion, he resorted to taunting the ghosts, mocking them, teasing, laughing at each miss, hoping they'd become angry enough to lose concentration. Maybe if he led them out into the street... "You can do better than that," he called. "Where's the sport in this. Chair bashing? Give me a break. That went out a long time ago. You're no fun. You just wait till my buddies get here and then you'll see you took on the wrong guy!"

Undaunted, the ghosts continued their attack. Well, maybe they didn't speak English. They hadn't said a word that Peter could understand so far. When they attacked, the made moaning sounds that might have sounded spooky to somebody who wasn't used to ghosts, but that was old hat to Peter. If he could just keep waving this chair around long enough for the guys to get here, everything would be great!

Then what he feared finally happened. The ghosts hovered overhead a minute, giving him a welcome breather as they conferred, though he didn't particularly like the thought that they were planning something nasty. When they drew apart, he realized his speculation had been right. One hovered near the bar, the other near the passage where Marian had vanished, each bearing a weapon. Peter backed up toward the band area and turned sideways to watch them both as they approached. This was harder than the other way, and it didn't take more than a few minutes of this battle to realize it was a harder fight than the one he'd fought so far. Especially when the larger of the two specters slipped past his guard and whacked him hard across the shoulders with a chair.

Peter collapsed to his knees, wheezing for breath, a little shaken and sore, but, hopefully, not badly hurt. He wiggled his shoulders cautiously and realized he'd be bruised, but everything seemed to work.

"Hey, no fair," he complained. "It's not nice to whack Dr. Venkman!" Scuttling sideways on his hands and knees, he managed to avoid a second blow with a thrown table that crashed down beside him. The top separated from the legs and he grabbed one of the legs and used it first to lever himself upright again and next to block a flying chair. "Hurry up, guys," he muttered under his breath. "Petey needs you."

The thrown chair hit him hard, making his ears ring and his left arm go temporarily numb. He went down on his knees again, shaking his head to clear it, grateful to feel his fingers reacting again when he scrambled after the table leg. He ached all over. He couldn't keep this up much longer.

"Over here!" cried a new and militant voice that made Peter's head jerk up so quickly the room momentarily spun before his slightly confused vision. That was Marian. As he watched in horror, she charged into the fray, a small chair in one hand, a long pole that might have been a mop handle in the other, and in seconds she was at Peter's side, poking at the larger of the two specters with the handle and swinging the chair like a pro at the smaller one.

"Marian, are you crazy," panted Peter, struggling up to his knees. "These goopers are dangerous."

"You bet they're dangerous, buster," she replied. "So let's make it a fair fight. Two of us and two of them. Maybe they're too chicken to take on both of us." She cast a quick, experienced eye over him. "Can you get up?"

"I think so." He fumbled for the railing and dragged himself to his feet. Marian promptly placed herself at his side, tough and feisty and ready to take on any goopers who dared cross them. As the ghosts considered their options and regrouped near the ceiling, Peter sneaked a sideways glance at Marian, who gave him a bright, happy grin and brandished her mop handle at the ghosts.

"You do this all the time?" she asked. "You're either crazy or one of the bravest characters I ever met. What do you think they'll do next?"

"I think they'll look us over. Did you get the guys? Are they coming?"

"They said they'd be here in fifteen minutes," she said. "Ten have already gone by while you fought them off. Too bad you don't have a bullwhip."

"A bullwhip?" That wouldn't have been Peter's first choice of weapons.

"Jones uses one," she explained.

Peter doubted it was a typical archaeologist's tool, but that didn't matter right now. What did was Marian at his side, swinging her mop handle, prepared to take on any ghosts that dared to attack them. She wasn't afraid and she hadn't hesitated to rush back to his side when he was down. Peter had dated a lot of women, but he didn't remember any who had ever done that before. On the other hand, maybe running a tavern in Nepal qualified her to face ghosts. Maybe ghosts were even less ominous than the nasties she had faced there.

The ghosts attacked again and this time Peter and Marian fought them off, back to back against the threat as he had often stood with Egon, Ray or Winston. She never hesitated, never quailed, and finally when the ghosts sought shelter out of range once more, she was scarcely breathing fast. "I never thought I'd wear this to fight ghosts," she remarked with an urchin's grin, pointing to the new dress Peter had bought her. "Maybe we're not in style for it--but it's definitely interesting."

Peter leaned one hand against the railing. He had a killer headache, he'd been out of breath for a long time now, and his arm and shoulders ached like crazy, but none of that mattered. He returned the grin, his heart thumping with exertion and elation. This was special. He knew it was.

The ghosts began moaning and sobbing and instead of diving down to attack them, they threw gobs of pale green ectoplasm at the couple on the dance floor. Marian groaned. "This is the worst part, Peter," she told him tartly. "Look what it's doing to my new dress."

"I'll buy you a new dress," Peter promised extravagantly. "I'll buy you a dozen dresses. This is great." He reached out sideways for her hand and she put it into his. Raising the table top he still held, Peter tilted it like an umbrella to shield himself and Marian from the slimy rain that fell from above. She edged in beside him, still gripping her mop handle.

"Heads up, Peter!" Egon's voice cut through the room even as a sizzle of power made Peter smile in delight at the sight of the proton energy lacing out and pinning both goopers in its stream. A second containment stream followed the first, and Ray let out a delighted, "Yahoo!"

"Trap out," called Winston and the miniature containment until thudded to the floor under the writhing ghosts.

"Don't look in the trap, Marian," Peter urged.

Instead she looked up at him and smiled, then leaned closer and dropped a kiss on his cheek. "I've never experienced anything quite like this before," she said. "I won't forget it."

"I won't forget how you came to help me," he replied. "You're one spunky lady."

"If you two will delay the mutual admiration society for a moment," Egon cut in dryly, "you'll notice we captured the ghosts." Peter jumped slightly, so caught up had he been in Marian's smile, and turned to face his blond colleague.

"And your usual good job, Egon," he lauded.

"You look a bit the worse for wear, Peter," Egon said instantly, stepping forward as he shipped his thrower, and tilting Peter's head slightly. "Your head is bleeding."

"I thought something ought to be bleeding after all the tables and chairs they threw at me," Peter replied in an aggrieved tone. "I ought to start taking a thrower on all my dates."

"Gosh, Peter, that looks nasty," cried Ray in alarm, circling around to examine the cut behind Peter's ear. "Good thing it wasn't any deeper. Did you black out?"

Peter shook his head. "No. It knocked me off my feet, that's all. I'm okay, guys."

"Is this our usual Peter talking?" demanded Winston, approaching with the ghost trap dangling from his hand on its power cord. "No insistence that you'll die if we don't wait on you hand and foot for the rest of the day?"

Peter shot a sideways look at Marian, who was laughing. "Is that what he does?" she asked. "Men! You're all the same."

"Hey, no fair," objected Peter, the mood broken. "Come on, Marian, you said I was brave, remember? I'm a national hero..."

"You're my hero," she replied and gave him another kiss, this one on the lips. Egon groaned, and Ray laughed, but when she lifted her lips after that one quick touch, Peter saw a gleam in her eyes and he smiled back at her, well content, glanced sideways at the guys, and buffed his nails against his shirt.

"Can we go home before I'm sick?" Winston groaned.

"Don't tease him," Marian urged. "He really was very brave." She slid her arm through Peter's. "And he won't say so, but I think he is hurt."

That made them take a second look at him, but Peter waved them off. It was great to bask in the glow of Marian's sympathy, but there was nothing wrong with him that a couple of aspirin and a soak in a nice hot tub wouldn't cure. "I'm okay. I've gotta go find the owner of this place and settle up." The guys called teasing comments after him as he stalked off but he didn't care. He felt rather like St. George when he returned after slaying the dragon to the praise of everyone he'd left behind.

*****

"Did you find anything about how I got here?" Marian asked. The Ghostbusters had insisted on running Peter by the local emergency room, but he'd proven to be unhurt except for a few bruises and the slight cut on his head, which they'd dressed. Once home, it was getting near dinner time, so the guys fixed a big dinner, helped by Marian who added input on the kind of food she'd eaten in Asia and what she cooked on a usual night. They had put off any work on her problem until the meal was over, and Peter was delighted to see her interacting with the guys, laughing with Ray as if he were her kid brother, refusing to take any guff from Egon, even when he was at his most stiffly scientific, and complaining with Winston about Peter's frivolous attitude, which, of course, made Peter behave all the more frivolously. Even Janine, coming upstairs to tell them goodnight, was roped in and invited--by Marian after a quick exchange of looks with Peter--to stay and eat with them so she wouldn't be outnumbered by all the men. Janine, always glad of a chance to spend off duty time with Egon, promptly put her evening plans on hold and joined in. Slimer appeared from wherever the spud had been--from the smell of him, raiding all the garbage bins in the neighborhood--and tried to help until Peter threatened to blast him and never feed him again if he didn't go away until he smelled better. Daunted by the latter part of this terrible threat, Slimer vanished through the ceiling and returned a little later dripping wet and smelling of Egon's cologne. Ray went to investigate and came down chuckling.

"He took a shower," he complained. "You should see the bathroom." His eyes suddenly sparkled. "He used your towel, Peter."

Peter groaned. "I knew it. Why is it always me?"

Janine eyed Marian warily at first, but after a few minutes she began to unbend and the two women retreated to the kitchen, heads together. After a few moments, feminine giggles echoed from the room, and Peter and Egon exchanged a suspicious glance.

"I'm not certain I care for the sound of that," Egon remarked.

"I'm certain," Peter replied. "And I don't." Yet he couldn't help grinning. In all the times Peter had brought a girlfriend to the firehouse, this was the first one who had gotten along with Janine so well, and who had fit right in with the guys. Of course he didn't usually bring women home trapped in pre-Columbian statues or women from the past, but that didn't make a difference. What did was that Marian was fitting in with them so well. Peter smiled broadly.

It wasn't until they sat down to eat that Marian asked after the scientific results of the day and Peter set down his glass with a surprised little thud. Somehow, a part of his mind hd closed away the possibility that Marian would go home. He hadn't let himself think of it, and now, when he did, a stab of regret lanced through him. He didn't want her to go home. Yet she was looking at Egon expectantly.

"It's the statue," Ray explained quickly. "Somehow, somewhere along the line, it became a kind of dimensional gateway. Well, not really dimensional. A temporal gateway. You see, time sort of all exists at once, in some theories. Right now, we're sitting in New York, and someone else is starting to build the pyramids. There's a kind of river of time or ribbon of time--"

"Or string of time," said Egon, harking back to the theories he'd mentioned earlier. "Ray is giving you the layman's version, of course. If all time exists simultaneously, then in theory it should be possible to find a way to move in time as easily as we move in space--though, of course, we have no proof that anyone has done this--well, at least not for the most part, and not in a controlled manner. We--" he gestured to his fellow Ghostbusters and himself--"have traveled into the past on two separate occasions. The first time was the result of a vortex of time which we were never able to study and catalog but which we suspect was controlled by three ghostly entities for purposes of their own. The second time was an accident and I have been unable to decipher the theoretical variables well enough to control such a journey again, except in extreme peril. We reversed it to return home, but it was a grave risk and might have done nothing more than annihilate our very atoms."

"You didn't say anything about atoms annihilating, Egon," Peter chastised him. "I don't know if I would have wanted to go if there was a chance of that."

"You would hardly have chosen to stay in 1959 and done damage to the entire time and space continuum, Peter," Egon said with mock sternness, gesturing with his fork as if to prove his point.

"Welllll, not if you put it that way," Peter replied. "But that was--well, an accident. This is different. Somebody must have set up this temporal portal too, Spengs."

"Perhaps, but there is no way for us to discover who it was," Egon replied. "While intriguing, that information is not essential to our present situation. What does matter is for us to understand how the portal works, and whether it offers the possibility of a two-way transfer. If Ray's temporal theory is valid, then Miss Ravenwood should be able to return to the stone and step out again in 1937, shortly after she left."

"I could go back?" Marian cried, elated, then, gradually, the joy slid out of her face as if someone had rinsed it away. "I could go back," she said, and this time, a frown of perplexity settled between her brows.

"We don't know yet," Winston said quickly. "Until we know more, it would be too dangerous to risk it. You might simply go into stasis in the stone and not come out again until some time in the future. April 23rd, 2037 or something like that."

She frowned. "No, thank you. I'd rather stay here. This is--well, there are a lot of things I don't understand yet--television and computers and all the technology, but people are still the same. The further I might go, that could change, couldn't it?"

"Well, human nature is human nature," Peter reassured her, "But we don't want to send you further from home. This is a pretty good year, though. If you think it's too dangerous, you could stay here." He looked at her across the table, brown and green eyes meeting and holding, then he smiled brightly. "You'd be welcome," he said quickly.

That made Egon shoot one very quick, thoughtful gaze at Peter. He didn't say anything, but Peter, who knew Egon very well, read something like understanding in the look, and he didn't want to see it. He turned his attention back to his plate and asked, "How long will it take to find out?"

"At best, several days," Egon replied, "though of course we may have a breakthrough sooner. We'll need you for part of the research, Miss Ravenwood."

"Marian," she told him with a quick smile.

"Marian, then. But you needn't spend all the time in the lab. I'm sure there are things you'll want to see before you return to your own time."

"Egon, what about her changing time if she knows too much?" Ray asked. "They always talk about that in science fiction stories."

"True, Ray," Egon replied. He pushed his plate a little away as if he needed the room to expound new theories. "Yes, there's a danger, but I'm sure Marian will respect it and avoid taking the risks."

"On Star Trek, when they picked up that test pilot from the 20th Century by accident, they put him back right before it happened so he had no memory of it," Winston reminded them. "Can we do that?"

"Can you walk through that door and then walk in again before you left?" Egon asked him. "No, we can't do that. The doorway doesn't function like that. Peter said it was like a revolving door. You go in in 1937 and come out now. You go in again now, and several days have passed. So you return to 1937 several days later. So far, my studies indicate that is the most likely thing to happen."

"But--but wouldn't somebody have to handle the statue?" Peter prompted. "Isn't that what made the door open this time? I was messing with the statue and I unlocked it?"

"Very good, Peter," replied Egon in the tone of voice of one who would give him a reward for the idea if he'd had a doggy treat to hand. "What are the odds, Marian? I don't want to send you back with the door locked."

"Jones is an archaeologist," she replied. "He handles all his finds. That one was intended to go in the museum, but he wasn't done with his work on it. When I disappear, he won't get to that work right away--or at least I'd hope he wouldn't. He'd look for me--and then when he doesn't find me, he'd come back to the statue. He'll let me out. I'd like to see the look on Indy's face when I come out." She turned suddenly to Peter. "I remember the look on your face when I threatened to slug you."

"Peter's women do that," Ray said with a grin.

"Women?" Marian lifted an eyebrow at him with obvious curiosity. "Tell me more, Ray."

"There aren't any women right now," Peter said quickly. "Ray knows that. You think I'd be out with you today if there were?"

She looked at him thoughtfully a long moment. "No, I don't, Peter." Then she dimpled at him. "Do they threaten to slug you? This is interesting? Do you take them 'busting' with you?"

"No," said Peter. "I never did that before. We had specialists go with us a couple of times, but they weren't my girlfriends." He smiled at her convincingly.

Egon and Ray met each other's eyes, and then Egon pulled his plate back to him and continued his meal. Janine leaned toward Marian. "He's a heartbreaker," she said quickly. "All of them are. But Dr. V isn't so bad. You have to watch him, that's all." She laughed. "And I bet you're good at that."

"Hey, thanks for the testimonial, Janine," Peter told her. "Now about that raise I've been promising you..."

"Peter," chided Ray. "That's not nice."

"Hey, I meant it," Peter defended himself. "I'm a generous guy." He turned to Marian. "You don't want to bury yourself in the lab tonight, do you? We never had a chance for some real fun--the ghosts got in the way."

"I'm sorry, Peter, but I will need Marian this evening," Egon interrupted. "The next set of tests require a lot of different readings. No, Slimer, I'm not finished with my dinner yet."

"Aw." The spud, heartened by Egon's maneuvers with the plate, looked depressed, then he brightened and drifted over to Ray. "Slimer hungry," he announced.

"And Slimer eating is not a pretty sight," Peter told Marian. "You don't want to see it. Done? Come on, let's snatch a few minutes before the mad scientists get their hooks onto you. Let's go up on the roof."

*****

Peter had always liked the view from the roof, with the bulk of Manhattan's taller buildings to the north fading into a kind of light frieze in the distance. A few of the brightest stars were visible on good days, and they were far enough from the street below to avoid the worst of the fumes of passing traffic. Peter stood with his arm around Marian's shoulders and pointed out some of the taller buildings in the distance. "Now, turn this way. That's the Word Trade Center. Yeah, those two towers. That wasn't here in your time. It didn't get built until sometime in the '70s, I think. Now turn this way." He guided her gently in the circle of his arm. "See? There? That's the Empire State Building."

Marian leaned comfortably against his shoulder. "It's beautiful," she breathed. "This is a wonderful view."

"I don't' know why but it's even nicer in the winter, when it's cold. Egon could probably tell you. Something to do with air refraction or some such techie talk."

"If that's an example of Egon's small talk, I feel a little sorry for Janine." So Marian had picked up on Janine's feelings for the blond physicist. Or maybe Janine had even told him when they were giggling in the kitchen.

Egon does okay," Peter said with a grin. "It's not my style, but it must work for Janine. She keeps coming back for more. Egon may not talk romantic but he's the best. All the guys are."

"How long have you known them?" asked Marian, interested. "You said something about meeting them in college?"

"Yeah, I ran into Egon there first. I thought he was a real geek--you know, one of those people with their nose in a book all the time, sort of boring and a grind," he added when the unfamiliar word made her raise an eyebrow at him. "But it didn't take me long to find out different. That boy had a wicked sense of humor--and you know me. I'm never serious."

"You are when you're telling me how much your friends mean to you," she said unexpectedly. "You were when you were urging me out of danger this afternoon."

"Well, I have my moments," Peter said with a wry grin. "Egon introduced me to Ray, and Ray in college was like a farm boy in the big city for the first time. He went around with his eyes open so wide I thought they'd fall out. Everything he saw fascinated him."

"And still does," Marian replied. "I like Ray. I like all your friends."

"Yeah, they're great guys, aren't they?" Peter asked, growing serious in the face of Marian's understanding. "You had a colorful past, well, so did I. My old man was a con man, a crook--still is, for that matter. I'm never gonna reform him. The thing is, he taught me a lot of lessons, like never trust people because they'll only use you. I pretty much believed that when I met Egon and Ray. It took the two of them for me to learn it wasn't always true."

"It's true a lot, though," Marian said, and Peter heard a quiet thread of pain running through her voice, and knew she'd had as many bad times as he had, if not more. He tightened his grip around her shoulders and she leaned against him more closely.

"Yeah, but sometimes we make it that way by our own expectations," he said thoughtfully. "Egon and Ray never once betrayed my trust and I know they never will. Once Winston came and joined the business, he was the same. Somebody to count on."

"And they count on you," she said, following him into his reflective state. "I can see it. I could tell by the look on their faces when they thought you were hurt badly this afternoon. That scared them. They love you. They want to protect you."

"Goes with the territory," Peter said quickly. "I'd do the same for them."

"I know." She hesitated, her head comfortably against his shoulder. He liked having it there. "Egon--when we started up here, you didn't see, but he reached out like he halfway wanted to stop you."

Peter hadn't seen the gesture, but he knew what it meant. Egon was afraid he was falling in love with Marian, and Egon was afraid he'd get hurt. Peter suspected Egon was right, and that getting involved with Marian wasn't a good idea. Peter wasn't stupid and he knew that. He also knew he'd only met Marian Ravenwood this morning. One day in a woman's company, especially one day like today, as extraordinary as it had been, was hardly the way to measure how he felt about her, but Peter fell in love easily. That was a kind of game, and the guys teased him about it all the time. He'd see a new woman and announce for all and sundry to hear, "I'm in love." The guys teased him about it, and rode him and made smart remarks, and Peter went out with the woman and had a good time--or not, as it sometimes happened, and occasionally it was serious, but often just plain fun. That was all different. He didn't know what the difference was. Egon might have said it was that, in her way, Marian was unattainable, and women who were unattainable had always appealed to Peter. Once he and Egon had talked about that very subject and Egon had suggested that unattainable women were safe because Peter knew from the start it wouldn't work out so he could insulate himself against hurt when it fell through. Peter had thought about it a little, but it hadn't stopped him from continuing with his own life style, which he enjoyed very much. Now, he looked at the woman at his side and wondered why this was different.

It had been a game, an enjoyable game, until Marian had appeared at his side with the mop handle and joined in the fight against the ghosts. Up until then, Peter had been 'in love' just like usual, enjoying the game, going out of his way to help Marian find her way in a strange world. But now it was different, and he knew he didn't want her to step back into the statue and vanish into his past, never to be seen again. In love? Peter wasn't sure. He only knew it was different from the other times and instead of wanting to take Marian out and party--though he wanted that, too--he wanted to sit up here with her and just talk, find out what she thought about things, understand her, learn about her life--and then tell her things about himself he didn't usually admit, even to Egon, Ray or Winston.

He liked the way she reacted to the guys and Janine. He'd been half afraid that a woman from the 1930's might react differently to Winston because he was black but she hadn't, not even in an involuntary gesture. Winston was part of the team and Marian had accepted that from the first moment she met him.

But the weirdest thing was, Marian was the first woman he remembered meeting that he was drawn to enough to want to share her with his friends--not in a romantic way, but to include her and the guys together into his life. The guys were his family and he loved them, though he didn't go around making soppy declarations about it. It was just the way things were. Once or twice he'd even wondered if he'd put off becoming really involved with women, not as Egon had suggested that time because it would keep him from being hurt but because he was afraid a real, permanent commitment would mess up his current lifestyle, which was the happiest and most important part of his existence. It was something he'd never actually admitted to himself before, but now that he thought about it, he wondered if that was true. Getting married, moving out of the firehouse--he'd be leaving behind everything that was good about him, everything that made him happy.

Not that he was thinking about Marian that way. You didn't want to marry a woman you hadn't known for a full day. But he wanted to know her better. He wanted to spend time with her, and he wanted to spend time with her and the guys. She was tough, and though she'd been afraid, she'd never let it get her down. He liked that in a woman. He liked women who were gutsy and who didn't hesitate to take charge if the situation warranted it.

And suddenly it wasn't 'women who' that he was considering. It was Marian herself. He liked that wicked smile that sometimes peeked out--when she'd look across the room and share amusement with him. He liked the way she understood how important to him his buddies were. He liked the way she'd stood batting at those ghosts without a trace of fear in her eyes. And he liked the way her body felt leaning against him right now as they gazed at the distant lights of Manhattan.

"Yeah, he probably did want to stop me," Peter said. "He's afraid how I'll take it when they send you back."

She looked at him very seriously. "I wasn't sure you'd say that," she said. "I wasn't sure you'd admit it?"

"What, that I'm falling in love with you?" There, he'd said that, too.

She looked up at him and her eyes lit up with warmth. "That, yes. And when--if Egon and Ray figure out how to send me back...I won't know whether or not to go."

Peter was kissing her when Ray arrived on the roof to summon them down for further experiments.

The next day passed in a series of images that Peter remembered vividly for a long, long time. They'd given Marian the couch on the second floor to sleep on, and Peter had stayed down there with her a long time after the guys had gone up to bed. He wanted to make love to her but it wasn't the thought of one of the guys coming down for a drink or a snack and finding them that held him back. He was pretty sure the guys wouldn't come down for that very reason alone and that Ray would keep Slimer away, too. It simply didn't seem fair to her, or to him. Besides, as Peter himself admitted, it was just too soon. He was falling in love with this woman, and this woman didn't belong in the 1990's. Peter couldn't go back with her. He knew that. Even if Egon had pointed out that the statue was configured for one person and only one person, as if he were somehow afraid that Peter would go with her, Peter knew he couldn't do it. Much as he was starting to care for Marian, he owed too much to the guys to do that to them. She knew it, too, and when Egon said the statue was a solo trip, she nodded and smiled a little sadly and said it was for the best.

"You can't come back there with me," she said, as she said as they sat on the couch side by side with only the flicker of light from the TV both of them ignored brightening the room.

"Because of Jones?" Peter asked. "Come on, can an archaeologist compete with a Ghostbuster?"

Marian smiled. "Jones--Jones is pretty special, Peter, but then so are you."

"Yeah, I'm a wonderful guy," he agreed brightly. "You miss him a lot, don't you?"

She nodded. "I do. Half the time I want to hit him over the head with a big stick, and the other half, I know how special he is and how much it would hurt me to lose him--but he's not Peter Venkman. I find myself wishing the statue would open and close whenever I wanted it to. Egon says it won't, though. He says if I go through it again, he doesn't think it would open for me again. He's not even entirely sure it would work again for anyone. He says if I get back, the statue should either be destroyed or put in a museum someplace where it can't harm anyone again. I think I'd throw it into the ocean."

"But if you do that, I won't find it in the Curio Shoppe," Peter objected.

"But if I go back, I've already been here," she replied. "Or won't it work like that?" Her eyes widened. "I read some books about time travel when I was in Nepal. There wasn't much to do, other than fight off amorous mountain climbers and teach myself to speak the language. One of the things about time travel was always a paradox. If I throw away the statue afterwards, and it never winds up in the Curio Shoppe, does that mean I won't have been here--or that you won't remember me?"

"I'll always remember you," Peter told her.

"You wouldn't have any say in the matter," she replied. "It would be as if it never happened."

"I'm a Ghostbuster, Marian. I'll make sure I remember--if you go back."

"And if I don't?" She looked at him seriously. "This is an adventure for you. Something new and different. I'm not like the other women you know. How long would that be interesting? Your life right now is so complete that much as you say you're falling in love with me and much as you want me in your life, I find myself banging my nose against a glass wall sometimes. I'm on the outside. I don't like being on the outside. I know time might fix that--but it might make it worse, too. I'd be here, and Jones would be there, and you and I would...fizzle away."

"No," he insisted fiercely. "Don't listen to the guys talking about me. Yes, I date a lot. I always loved the ladies--but don't you see, Marian, that was different. That was 'the ladies'. Like going to ball games or playing tennis. A kind of recreation. A game. You're not 'the ladies.' You're you." He waggled an expectant eyebrow at her, hoping she'd see the difference.

She did. Her face lightened. "That's the part of you I love," she said quietly. "The part you don't show the rest of the world--or only your family upstairs. I find myself laughing at the silly parts and I never really knew how to laugh, not for years and years. Indy makes me smile--but no one ever really made me laugh until now. Yet even that isn't all I love about you. It's that inner man you don't let out very often. That man is special."

"A great guy," Peter said lightly, because anything more serious would hurt.

She nodded her head against his shoulder, kissed him lightly on the tip of his nose, and said, "Go to bed, Peter. We'll look at tomorrow when it comes."

*****

"You love her, don't you?" That was Egon in the morning when Winston was downstairs clattering around in the kitchen with Marian and Ray was in the shower.

Peter opened his mouth to deny it, to say something frivolous, then he caught himself. When Egon's blue eyes held that particular expression, it wasn't possible to lie to him. "Yeah, Spengs, I do," he admitted. "I never met anybody like her before."

"Understandable. But are you sure it isn't just the time difference? She is different, because she was raised in a totally different world than we know today."

"Yeah, Egon, I know that. We talked about it. It's more than that. It's one of those things that happens. Remember back at college before we really got to know each other as well as we do now, and how we used to one-up each other all the time. And remember one day, it hit us both and struck us funny and we started laughing--and all of a sudden we were friends. Both of us knew it, too, and we didn't even have to explain how it happened? Well, it was sort of like that."

Egon's expression grew grave. "I'm sorry, Peter. I hadn't realized it had gone as far as that."

"It hasn't gone anywhere beyond talking about it," Peter began, then caught himself quickly as he realized Egon didn't mean a physical relationship. "Okay, yeah, Spengs. And you're gonna send her back, aren't you?"

"I have to, Peter."

"Why? What if she wants to stay?"

"Two reasons." Egon was very solemn. "The first is that she may love you, but she loves her Jones, too, and if you make her choose between you, a part of her will always resent it. She may love you--and though I don't often say such things, the woman who wins you will be a lucky woman." He waved his hand for silence before Peter could blurt out a smartass remark. "The other reason is much more serious. When Marian came through the doorway, it weakened the temporal fabric between 1937 and now. Those ghosts that attacked you in the restaurant are only a small part of a larger problem. Janine has made appointments for us through the middle of next week at last check, to bust any number of lesser spirits who have drifted through. Fortunately, until now they have all been class twos and threes. But Ray and I have discussed it and he believes, as do I, that before long, more powerful spirits will be drawn through as well, and that presents a danger to the city that we can't permit to happen."

"What if we smashed the statue?" Peter asked.

"That would close the doorway--but not as effectively as sending Marian back. And in shattering the gateway, it's possible that some powerful spirits could sneak through. Closing the door in the normal fashion would prevent that. It might even draw back some of the entities that have crossed over."

Peter grimaced wryly. "Did you tell Marian that?"

Egon hesitated a minute. "I thought it might be better if you told her, Peter."

He opened his mouth to protest. It wasn't fair. He shouldn't have to break this news. But as he started to speak he caught himself. Egon was right. It was his place to tell Marian. It was only right that he do it. "Okay, Spengs, you got me," he said unhappily. "I'll do it. But do I have to do it right now?"

Egon hesitated, looking at Peter's face for a long moment. Then he shook his head. "No. We won't be ready to implement transfer until this evening. But don't do it at the last minute, Peter. That isn't fair to either of you." He smiled at Peter and reached out to clasp his shoulder. "I can understand how you might have fallen for Marian. She's a special woman. Janine likes her very much."

"Okay, Egon. I'll tell her. Only--if she decides to stay here, are you saying she can't?"

"Of course not, Peter. But then we'll have to destroy the statue and there will be a risk to the population of New York."

"Hey. We're Ghostbusters. We'll get those ghosts." But as he said it, Peter knew deep inside that it would influence Marian's choice. He had one day more, and that was the way it was.

Ray came out of the shower after Egon had gone downstairs and stopped dead at the sight of Peter sitting glumly on his bed, one shoe on his foot, the other sitting loosely clasped in his lap. Ray's face filled with ready sympathy and he came over and sat beside Peter on the four poster bed. "I'm sorry," he said.

"Does everybody know about this?" Peter asked, struggling to hold the edge out of his voice.

"Well, Egon and I figured it out last night that it would be better for the rest of the world if Marian went back. But, gosh, Peter, if you want her to stay and she wants to stay, we'll handle it. We'll be ready for those ghosts."

"They might not break through," Peter said unconvincingly.

"They might not," Ray agreed. He slung an arm around Peter's shoulders. "I like her a lot, too," he said. "But I know it's different with you. Are you--are you really in love with her, Peter?"

"Yeah, Tex, I guess I am," he confessed. "I can really pick 'em, can't I? The ones I fall for usually don't fall for me. The ones that fall for me, I usually don't fall for. but finally, there's somebody who's just right. She feels like I do--and she knows how important you guys and the job are and she wouldn't come between." He heaved a vast sigh. "What if this is it, Ray? What if this is the only chance I'm ever gonna get?"

"Oh, Peter..." Ray's voice was full of distress. "It can't be the only chance. Somebody as neat as you are is gonna get lots of chances. I know it won't be the same, and right now it isn't good enough. But we'll stand by you." He peered at Peter earnestly. "Just tell us what we can do to help?"

"Just be my Ray," Peter said with a sad grin. He reached up and squeezed Ray's arm gratefully. "That'll help more than anything."

"I will, Peter," Ray promised. "I promise."

*****

Peter took Marian out again, but that wasn't satisfying because what he really wanted was to be alone with her. He didn't want to tell her what her options were in full view of interested New Yorkers. Yet everyplace they went, people recognized him. Ordinarily, Peter loved being famous, but now, he found it a real annoyance.

Still, it was a special morning. They did silly things. They flew kites in Central Park, they ate ice cream cones, they played with someone's dog and a frisbee. The sun shone on them, a perfect spring day, full of warmth and friendly crowds, too long cooped up by the winter weather and the endless wet spring to do anything but revel in a perfect April day. Peter cherished every minute they had together, and there were times when he could actually forget what was hanging over them and just go with it--until something reminded him.

It wasn't until they finally wound up at a restaurant for lunch that they had any real privacy because he chose a place with the tables far apart where they could talk without being overheard. He wanted to tell her before they went home, so she could make her decision and he could get used to it before he faced the guys.

When they were seated and the waiter had gone away with their order, Marian met his eyes. "I--I did something today I shouldn't have."

"What?" he asked. "Fried Slimer with a proton stream? Hung Egon's underwear on a flagpole?"

"I looked up Jones in the phone book," she confessed. "I know it's silly to try the New York book when we didn't live here before, but I thought I would, and you said you thought he lived here, so I thought it was worth a shot. He was born in Princeton and that's not so far away. I--I found him, Peter. He's here, in the city. I know there are probably a lot of Henry Jones Jr.'s so I telephoned. I asked him if he were Dr. Jones, the archaeologist. I pretended I was a reporter. He said he was. He was old, Peter. He started telling me stories and rambling on and on, and at first I thought he was senile, but I listened and he wasn't. He knew what he was talking about. But he'd changed so, Peter." Her hands closed into tight fists, the nails digging into her palms. "The man I know, the one with such dash, the one who laughed at danger, he was different. I asked about me. I know I shouldn't have done it, but I couldn't resist."

"What did he say?" Peter asked. It was hard to ask the question because his mouth was suddenly dry and his tongue didn't want to work. He reached out and took her hands, uncurling her fingers before the nails could bite too deeply.

"Oh, Peter, he didn't say anything. He said I'd been--been someone important to him, but one day I'd simply vanished. He sounded--bitter about it, as if he had made himself believe I'd gone on purpose. How could he think that? I didn't take anything with me. My clothes would have been still there. I'd have been an unexplained disappearance. He had enemies. Any of them could have kidnapped me."

Peter covered her hand with his. "Look at it from this end of history, Marian. He probably tried all those things. The police probably tried. There'd have been no clues. Winston reads all those mysteries and I pick up some of them. Usually they find missing persons. A lot of times when somebody vanishes like that, it's because they meant to vanish. It might be easier for him to believe that than to fear you were dead somewhere in an unmarked grave." He shook his head. "I'm pleading his case pretty good, aren't I?"

"I knew you'd say this." She smiled sadly. "When you plead his case, you plead your own, too, because only a special person would be big enough to do that. You could have sat there and said, 'See how lucky you are that you missed out on all of that.' But you didn't."

"I told you once what a great guy I was," Peter said brightly.

"You didn't have to tell me," she said, her mouth curving into an tender smile. "I knew."

"There's something else I've got to tell you," he said, reaching out for her hands and squeezing them.

"You're going to send me home, aren't you?" she asked and her choice of words convinced him of what he had to do.

"Marian, you just said it. Home. That's really where you belong. I want you here with me. I want you more than I ever wanted any woman before, and that's after knowing you just one day. But Egon says the gateway is letting ghosts through, like those ones we fought yesterday. And he said that pretty soon some really big, mean ones could come through too. We could break the statue and that would close the door, and if you choose to stay, that's what we'll do, but he says some of the big ones might still get through while the door is breaking, and even after. We can handle 'em, though. We're the best. We're Ghostbusters. If you stay, we'll do it and nobody will ever blame you for it. That's a promise from Dr. Venkman."

"But if I go, none of them come through?"

Peter wanted to lie, but he couldn't lie to her. "You got it."

"Do you want me to stay?"

"You know I do." He started to expound on that, but he caught himself before he could do so. "More than anything. But--I'm going to send you home. You said it yourself, you called it home. I'm going to decide for you, not because I don't think you can decide for yourself, because I know you can, and you'd always make the right decision--no matter which one it was. But I'm going to decide both for the world (and maybe for the 30s where ghosts might be sneaking out too with no Ghostbusters to help them) and for your Jones, so he won't become embittered, and for you, so you won't have to hate one of us for making you choose wrong. I'm going to choose for you because I would rather lose you than make you unhappy or make you regret something you chose to do yourself."

"Venkman, you idiot," she said tartly, though her eyes were brimming with tears. "I'll tell you something right up front, so you'll know and always know. If it weren't for the ghosts, I'd stay. I would. I want to. But I can't take that responsibility, not only for your world but mine, and I can't take the responsibility of turning Jones into a bitter, lonely old man. If I don't go back now, and there are ghosts coming through on the other side, I may ruin the world, not only for me but for everybody--and maybe that will mean destroying you. We don't know if it could happen, but it might."

"I can't go with you," he began, his voice half catching and making him stop before he could explain.

"I know. I know that, too." She tightened her grip on his hands. "This is the craziest thing. Love shouldn't work like this, but I've always known--I knew when I met Jones, first time I saw him. With you, it took a little longer but that was only because I was out of place. Once I looked past that, there you were. I'll always remember that. You know I will."

He nodded. "I know." One tear slid down her cheek and he reached up and brushed it away before the waiter returned with their dinner. As they ate, neither tasting the food, Peter forced himself to talk, trying to cheer her up, giving them memories, and she caught on and played it up with him. He remembered their celebrity games of the day before and teased her gently about it and she replied in kind. Talking or not talking, they felt right together, and the meal ended so quickly that Peter wanted to reach into the statue and alter time so she didn't have to leave so soon.

But she did. They returned to the firehouse in the middle of the afternoon and Marian was instantly conscripted for further test and readings. "We know how to open the gateway now," Ray explained to Peter and Marian. "It's a lot easier than we thought it would be. It was set to certain parameters and you happened to match them. It was a combination of circumstances. You'll need to wear what you were wearing then, and to handle the stone exactly as you did then. That's all it takes. Since you came through before, it won't even take Jones handling it. You'll just go in this side of history and come out the other, as long as you duplicate what you did before. Can you remember what you did?"

"It may have been over fifty years away for you, Ray, but it was two days ago for me," she replied. "I think I can remember. I'm not stupid."

"I wish I knew who sealed the gateway into the stone," Ray breathed. "Egon, maybe we should do some research on pre-Columbian history and see what we come up with. There might be other stones like this and we can track them down."

Peter didn't like the idea of that. For all he knew it might mean one of his buddies would get sucked in. He'd have to see that any stones they found were carefully tested and that nobody ever handled them.

Marian came into the lab right after dinner, wearing her original outfit. "I wish I could take that dress back with me," she said regretfully, but she made her voice sound light on purpose. "I always liked that dress."

"You looked great in it," Peter assured her. "Jones would have drooled at the very sight."

"It's ready," Egon explained. "We've finished testing. When it's done, we'll put the stone into the containment unit so no one else will be jeopardized. Tests prove it will be safe there."

"Good. I'm glad." She turned to Egon and Ray, who were standing near the stone. "Could I have a few minutes, please?"

"Sure," said Winston, coming up behind Egon and Ray and grabbing each of them by the scruff of the neck before Egon could think of something else to explain and Ray could show any more fascination with the statue or the gateway. He guided them out of the lab, and Peter and Marian turned to look at each other.

"I was going to be funny," she said. "I was going to say something flippant and witty and I was going to call you Venkman and make you remember me being a smartass, like you called yourself."

"Yeah," Peter replied. "I was, too. 'Course I am a smartass. I've perfected it to an art." He shrugged. "But once in awhile, I just can't get it right."

"I wish I could think of something clever to say, but all I want is for you to hold me."

He put his arms around her and stroked her hair, and for a long moment, they stood there, neither of them with the right words. Except for the most important ones. "I love you," said Peter Venkman.

"And I will always love you." She reached up and touched his face, kissed him briefly, then, quickly, she snatched up the statue. "I have to do it now, or I'll never go," she said. "It was worth everything, knowing you."

"It was worth more than everything," Peter began, but as he spoke, the rock pulsed and glowed, and all at once, Marian had turned to mist before his eyes. This was crazy. He should have made her stay. "MARIAN!" he screamed, but as he watched, the smoke coalesced, and suddenly it was sucked into the stone of the statue until it vanished altogether. The figurine clattered to the floor.

The other three Ghostbusters came running and found Peter standing looking down at the statue, his eyes blurred with unshed tears. He felt an arm come around his shoulders and a hand clasp one arm, while somebody else reached out and dropped a hand on the top of his head and ruffled his hair. "Don't say anything, guys," he mumbled, leaning into Egon's arm around his shoulders. "Just--well, somebody put that thing in the containment unit, right away."

"We will, Peter," Ray promised at his side. "We will." But for a long moment, his friends stood beside him, just being there, the way he'd known they would be and it was enough.

*****

Later on, Peter remembered Marian's phone call to Jones, and he fetched the Manhattan directory and looked up Dr. Henry Jones Jr. He found the name still there--he'd halfway expected it to have vanished--if Marian had made it home, but there was no reason to think she couldn't still live in New York with Jones. The archaeologist had been older than she was, and women often lived longer than men. She might still be alive, and while it would kill Peter to see her as an old lady, at least he'd know she made it. He dialed the number, but no one answered, though he let it ring and ring and ring. With a weary sigh, he let the receiver drop into the cradle.

"No one there?" It was Egon.

"No, Egon. No one was there," he replied. "What do you know about this anyway?"

"Marian said you might try to phone. She wanted me to make sure I was nearby when you did, so I've been waiting for you to make that call."

"Yeah, well, thanks, Egon," said Peter wryly. He was glad of Egon's presence, but he wasn't sure what his friend thought of recent events. "I suppose you think this is crazy, don't you?"

"Why would I think that?" Egon asked in genuine surprise.

"Because I knew her such a short time. I thought you'd say it wasn't anything important and that I'd get over it."

"You will get over it, Peter, but that doesn't make it unimportant," Egon replied immediately, his face full of sympathy. Why had Peter believed even for a minute that Egon wouldn't understand. Whenever Egon put his mind to it, he could read Peter like a book. "Love is love, whether you've known someone ten minutes or twenty five years. Marian said you made the decision for her so she wouldn't have to choose."

"Yeah, Egon, I couldn't let her have that hanging over her all her life. It had to be my choice."

"Do you know what a special person that makes you, to be able to give her up, for her sake and for the world's, and because you knew it was best?"

"So special I choose for everybody but me," Peter said wryly, staring at the floor. "Damn it, Egon, it hurts."

"I know. She was very right for you. I saw that from the first. I wish it could have been different." He hesitated. "Were you never tempted to go with her?"

"I couldn't do that," Peter said automatically. When he saw Egon looking at him in consideration, he said, "That was the only reason I knew I could let her go--because as much as I loved her--and I think I would have only loved her more if I'd known her longer--as much as I loved her, I don't think I could ever have given up..." He gestured around the firehouse, including his friends, his lifestyle, everything he'd worked so hard for and cared so much about. "So how could I let her give up everything for me?"

"You didn't have that choice, Peter. You couldn't have gone with her." Egon smiled gently. "We would have missed you very much," he said. "I'm very glad we don't have to." He lifted an eyebrow as he saw Peter reach for the telephone a second time. "Who are you calling now, Peter? No one will be back yet, surely?"

"No, this is something else."

It took ten minutes to track Edgar Benedek down. Peter finally ran him to earth at the National Register office though it was past quitting time. When Benny came to the phone and heard who it was, he said brightly, "Son of a gun, she called it right after all."

"She? Who?" Peter's stomach tied itself into a knot. Could Edgar Benedek possibly know Marian?

"A woman I know. No one you've ever met. She said to go to the Curio Shoppe when I did and that you'd be there and to make sure you bought a certain statue."

Peter felt his eyes widen, and he must have tensed quite noticeably, because Egon came up beside him and turned the receiver slightly so he could hear the answers too.

"You set me up," Peter snapped, defensive and angry and full of a variety of conflicting emotions that he couldn't get straight. "What was in it for you, Benny? You gonna do Letterman or Carson and talk about me?"

He could sense Benedek's interest. "This sounds promising, Venkster. What's it all about. All I know is that Jane Kendall came to my office three days ago and asked for a favor. Her husband gave me a great story about gene splicing last year and I owed her one in return. All I had to do was take a statue over to The Olde Curio Shoppe at a certain time and make sure you bought it. I don't know how she knew you were there but it was probably precognition. Wow, this is great! I know there's a story in it, Petey boy. Come on, give your friendly neighborhood journalist a hint."

"Who's Jane Kendall?" Peter demanded suspiciously, disappointed because he'd been hoping somehow against all hope that Benny had been sent by Marian herself. "I've never heard of her."

"No reason why you should, buds. She lives in Portland Oregon. She came to the city last week--the first time she's been here in nearly twenty years, I'd say. She produced the statue, gave me instructions not to touch it but to get it into the shop and have you buy it. She even told me what time to go. I'm promised a great interview if it works out. Her husband's always got some new project that we can write up."

"Then if you didn't set me up, why would she?" Peter demanded. "Come on, Benny, give."

"That's all I know," Benny said with what passed for him as real sincerity. He did it a lot better these days since he'd tied up with that professor at Georgetown Institute. "Really. Why. Did the ugly little guy blow up in your face or something? Am I in trouble?"

"You're in deep shit," Peter said, but he couldn't make real sense of this. Benny was a conspirator, but he was an unwitting one. Jane Kendall? The name wasn't remotely familiar. "I don't suppose you know if this Kendall is related to a Henry Jones?" he asked, casting at straws.

"Couldn't tell you, Venkster. There's a lot of Joneses in the world. Wait a minute. Henry Jones? You don't mean old Indiana Jones? The archaeologist? Do I know stories about him! Jon-boy knows him sort of. They say he found the Ark of the Covenant!"

"I have heard of him," Egon said quietly. "But I knew nothing of his personal life, so I didn't volunteer anything to Marian. She said you knew him by name and reputation." Peter nodded.

Benny babbled on about Indiana Jones, but when Peter asked him if Jones was married, the journalist went blank. "I can't say, pal. I can find out, though. I can find out anything."

"Yeah, and he'll be all over us trying to find out what this is about," Peter snapped when he finally hung up.

"He knows more than he's saying," Egon replied.

"Of course he knows more than he's saying. He always does. I don't know how Ray can trust that guy."

Egon smiled a little. "Ray is interested in the occult and so is Benny. They talk about things you and I have never heard of. Besides, Ray says Benny's got a slight gift of precog and he's always talking about setting things up so you can test him. Benny won't go along, but Ray thinks he'll get to him one of these days. You always used to test your students for it back at Columbia."

Peter nodded. He liked running that kind of test, though right now it was the furthest thing from his mind. "Sure, Egon. Next time I see Benedek, I'll have something to hold over the twerp. Who do you think this Jane Kendall is?"

"I have no idea," Egon replied, "but I'd wager money it has to do with Marian. Why else would anyone be concerned that you buy the statue? She would, though, because that was the way history was meant to be."

"That means she made it home, doesn't it?" Peter asked hopefully. "Come on, big guy, tell me that means she made it."

"While I can't prove it right now, Peter, I think it's a valid assumption. Come on. It's time you went to bed." He turned Peter toward the spiral steps to the third floor and Peter let him do it because he was tired and drained and if he was pretending to be asleep, he wouldn't have to talk to anybody.

He didn't expect to sleep, but somehow fatigue came out of nowhere and knocked him in the face, and the next thing he knew, it was morning.

*****

Peter ached all over. Bruises had deepened colorfully where the ghosts in the bar had battered him with chairs and tables, and there was even a colorfully tender spot on one cheekbone that he hadn't noticed yesterday. Peter regarded himself in the mirror without enthusiasm as he shaved, pausing a couple of times, once to prod the bruise with an investigative forefinger, and another time to investigate the healing scrape behind his ear, then he heaved a sigh and finished shaving. With a wiggle to his shoulders that made him yelp, he headed for the shower and let hot water pour over him for a long time until his tensed and aching muscles loosened up.

Egon was waiting with good news when Peter joined him, Ray and Winston at the breakfast table. "Janine has had a number of calls this morning, Peter," he explained. "Most of those little class twos we were supposed to bust over the next week have vanished without a trace. The clients phoned to cancel the calls, and all we have on schedule today is that theater bust that was planned before this all broke. It seems that reversing the gateway pulled those ghosts back after all."

"Bad ghosts gone," agreed Slimer, who was messily buttering a stack of pancakes and smearing butter all over the table top and his hands and forearms. It was not a pretty sight, and Peter grimaced.

"Yuck, Spud. Ray's taught you all kinds of things. I think it's time he taught you proper table manners."

"Slimer have good manners," announced the spud, pushing the whole stack of pancakes into his mouth in one gulp, swallowing them without a single chew, and burping loudly. He proved the 'truth' of his words by saying, "Excuse me."

Ray shook his head. "For once, I think Peter's right, Spud. I will have to teach you table manners. The sooner the better."

"Oooh, goodie. Slimer have more pancakes now. Need lots of practice," wheedled the little green ghost slyly.

Winston groaned. "I know one thing he doesn't need practice at. Conning us. Are you sure your old man hasn't been giving him lessons on the sly, Peter?"

Peter had just opened his mouth to answer when Janine appeared at the top of the stairs. "You have visitors, Peter," she said. "Female, of course. I think you'd better come down quick."

Peter jumped up. Something in Janine's tone was alarming though he didn't quite know why. Even more so, he noticed the red-headed secretary shoot a warning glance at Egon. This didn't look good.

The guests were waiting in Peter's office, two women, neither of them young. The younger of the two, relatively speaking, was probably around fifty, a trim, attractive, matronly lady in an elegant russet suit and gloves, and the older of the two was a generation older, a tall woman with white hair. Peter smiled at her automatically. He'd always had a weakness for little old ladies.

"Dr. Venkman," the younger woman said quickly before Peter could take a second look. "My name is Jane Kendall. Edgar Benedek said you telephoned him last night."

"You took the statue to the Curio Shop!" Peter stared at her. "Why? What made you do it?"

"I did," the older woman said. There was a thread of something familiar in her voice, something not quite recognizable, but it was enough to make Peter take a second look, and when he did, his jaw dropped open and he stared at her, his heart thumping in his chest and something twisting in his stomach.

"Marian!"

"Yes." She held out both her hands to him, aged hands but still firm and straight, and he took them automatically. "When the time came near, I got curious. Jones always said I was too curious for my own good. I went to the museum and the statue was still there. I knew that was wrong. It was supposed to be in the Curio Shoppe for you to find. Don't think I ever forgot a moment of my time with you, because I never did. I've waited for the last fifty or so years so I could tell you I made it back safely, but of course I couldn't tell you before today."

"I thought you must have been behind it," he said. "I called Benny last night and found out he'd set me up. Or you had," he said, glancing at Jane Kendall."

"This is my daughter," Marian explained. "She came to visit me last week--well, she came because I summoned her. I'd stolen the statue from the museum--no one would ever suspect me of doing anything so wicked. Little do they know of my misspent youth. And of course I'd never dare tell Indy." She broke off and tightened her fingers over Peter's.

"Oh, my dear, this is so unfair of me. I've had all those years to heal my broken heart, and you haven't had a day. I was so eager to see you again--and I have seen you many times from a distance, and of course on television. Indy never understood why I kept a Ghostbusters notebook with clippings from all your busts, but he indulged my hobby. I could never tell him what had happened, you see. Not entirely. I knew if I did, he'd risk going through the stone himself and I couldn't take that chance. So I let him think I'd had some kind of brainstorm and wandered away. It was easier that way."

"Marian," said Peter again. It was mindboggling to see her like this, old and possessed and content, but with that same mischievous gleam in her rich brown eyes. "Marian." Impulsively he pulled her close and hugged her gently.

When he freed her, he noticed the tears glittering in her eyes. "I didn't forget you," she said. "I never did. No one but Jane knew, and she didn't learn it until just after the coming of Gozer. She found me watching tapes on television and asked me why, and I told her. She didn't believe me at first, but I told her enough to make it believable, especially when I told her things that hadn't happened yet in history--I did read a few newspapers when I was here before and glanced at a modern history book Winston had, so I knew. When those things started happening--when the Berlin Wall fell, right when I said it would, for instance, she had to believe me."

"Up until then, I thought Mother was beginning to be senile, that she'd developed a kind of crush on you, Dr. Venkman. But she knew too many things. She remembered them and she'd written them down when she came back. She showed me her notes. I started paying attention to you myself and at first I thought mother had been had, then, the more I read, the more I saw that there was more to you than the showman you like to appear. I saw a lot of the same things I always admired in Mother. You were two of a kind."

"Yeah," said Peter in a faint voice. "We were."

"I won't come again," Marian said softly. "I shouldn't have come this time, but it wasn't fair to have you hear it secondhand from Jane. Besides, I didn't know if you'd believe it unless I came myself." She reached up and laid one wrinkled hand against his cheek. "And I wasn't sure Jane would believe me fighting ghosts with a mop handle."

"That I always believed," Jane replied with a twinkle. "It was just like Mother. If a ghost had ever come to our house, Dad would have taken after him with a whip and Mom would have grabbed whatever was handy."

"So you never told Jones?" Peter asked. He had long ago lost control of this conversation, if he'd ever had it.

"No. Oh, I think he knows I always loved someone besides him, but he knows I loved him, too, so perhaps he understood. He's all right now, Peter. He's an old curmudgeon, of course, but then he was a young curmudgeon once. He talks too much and bores strangers with his stories, but there isn't a shred of bitterness in him. And for that I thank you."

Peter nodded. "Yeah, well, the ghosts all vanished, too. Egon says the portal is closed and that probably they couldn't have got out as easily on your side."

"So it worked well," she said, then she shook her head. "No. I'd be a fool to believe that. Peter, I've got to ask you. Remember me, but make me a special memory, someone who came and went away again. Don't close your mind to other possibilities. If I could be happy--and believe me, my dear, I was, though I never stopped caring for you--then you can be happy, too. Promise me."

"That's a lot to ask, Marian."

"Promise me, Peter. Remember, I know you. I know you're a man who's got a wonderful family upstairs, a family you chose to be your kin, a family that's standing by you right now. I know you love every second of being a Ghostbuster and you can't imagine not being one. Remember when you told me about the time you thought you were allergic to ghosts and would have to move out and give up Ghostbusting. Do you think I could ever have asked that of you?"

"I would have--" he began unable to finish because even now he wasn't sure he ever could.

"Perhaps, my dear Peter. But no. You don't have to yet, and perhaps never. I know Egon, Ray and Winston are here for you, just like you're here for them if anything goes wrong. We're both where we belong--and, damn it, Venkman, we've got some great memories."

That finally made Peter smile and, seeing it, Marian smiled in return. She leaned forward and brushed her lips across his cheek just over the bruise. "Be good, have fun, don't do anything I wouldn't do--"

"And that pretty much gives you full license," Jane interjected with a grin just like her mother's.

"I figured it did," Peter replied. Somehow he felt a little better, knowing she was all right and as ornery as ever. Something good had come out of all of this. "But when I get my hands on that Edgar Benedek, I'm gonna flay him."

Marian shook her head. "He didn't know. But there is one thing, Peter. I have to have the statue back. If Indy ever realizes it's missing, my name is going to be mud!"

Peter stared at her a long minute, then, from deep inside him, a laugh began. "The statue back," he breathed in disbelief remembering his insistence last night that the little figurine be placed in the containment unit for safety, then, raising his voice, he yelled, "Egon, get down here. Good buddy, I've got a special job for you. And are you ever gonna love it!"

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