Ghostbusters The Return (22 page)

The lobby was so densely packed that it took a while for Winston to realize that some of the combatants on the fringes of the crowd were actually fighting each other. And even then, Egon and Ray didn't realize it, because they were facing in other directions.

"Hey, guys," said Winston, "we got company!"

"Thank you for stating the obvious," said Egon, trying to shake off an Incan priest while blasting a warthog.

"No, new company!"

"Who is it?" asked Ray.

"I can't tell," Winston replied, stretching to see over the crowd. "I think it's the cavalry."

The dozens of new arrivals weren't armed with the Ghostbusters' high-tech arsenal. But the ghosts were inhabiting tangible objects, and they were operating at nowhere near Xanthador's level of power. That meant they could be hit - and their borrowed bodies could be broken. Police officers swung billy clubs to knock stuffed heads off the bodies of wild animals. Teamsters shattered walking suits of armor with crowbars and tire irons.

Now that the odds were approaching something more even, the pack of animated exhibits was starting to thin as spirits were displaced from their hosts and forced to go off and find new bodies to inhabit. Not that there was any shortage of ghouls to battle, but once the ghosts had to split their attention across more than three living targets, the pressure on the Ghostbusters eased a bit. At the very least, they could move their arms and legs freely again.

"Didn't you say you had an idea?" Ray asked Egon.

"Yes," said Egon. As I said earlier, fire strategically. Place every shot for maximum effect."

With that, Egon whirled. He fired upward, trapping Geezil in the grip of an ion stream. "Why waste time with pawns, when you can capture a knight?"

Egon started to retract the beam. Geezil squirmed and struggled to maintain his grip on the wall, but it was no use. The relentless beam yanked the demon from his perch and pulled him down toward ground level. Geezil looked down at the waiting Ghostbusters with more than a little anxiety.

"Hiya, boys," said Geezil as he reached the Ghostbusters' eye level. "Hey, whaddaya say we go settle this whole misunderstanding over a cold beer? My treat, okay?"

"Call them off," said Egon.

"It'd like to. Really," said Geezil. "But it's my boss, y'see. He gave strict orders, and he has this real problem with employees showing personal initiative - "

"Call them off," said Egon, a little more insistent this time.
"Now."

"Wish I could, but it's out of my hands," said Geezil. "I'm just middle management. All the big stuff - possession, transmogrification - that's my boss's turf."

"Call them off," said Egon, "or I'll shove you into an ecto-trap and slam the door when you're halfway through."

"Can he do that?" Winston whispered to Ray, as he zapped a charging rhinoceros.

"Nah, the traps don't work like that," Ray whispered back. "But five bucks says he starts working on modifying them tomorrow."

Suddenly, without warning, all of the ghosts soared up out of their hosts and zoomed off in the same direction, through the wall and out of sight. The exhibits they left behind collapsed onto the floor, lifeless.

Geezil looked as puzzled as the humans. "Don't look at me," he said. "I didn't do anything."

A moment later, Geezil, too, was yanked out of the ion stream by an unseen force. He disappeared into the distance.

The disembodied spirits hadn't returned to the netherworld. All of them - scores of wraiths - were inside the planetarium, facing Venkman at Xanthador's side.

The other humans weren't shooting or using hoses now. Cowed by the threat and, to be honest, the sheer spectacle of it all, they stayed back and tried to attract as little attention to themselves as possible. As for the other Ghostbusters, they were still inside the museum proper.

Venkman was going to have to handle this one on his own.

"Y'know, Johnny," said Venkrnan, "There are a lot of things that scare me. Looking dumb on live TV? That scares me. Cafeteria mystery meat? Yeah, that scares me. And commitment? Don't get me started on commitment."

As he spoke, Venkman surreptitiously slipped a hand behind his back. His fingers found the appropriate rheostat on his proton back. He turned the power up to its highest setting.

"But this pathetic bunch of spuds?" Venkman continued. "Well, sorry, Johnny, but you just reached strike three. 'Cause while there might be plenty of things out there that scare me, I've gotta tell ya..."

Venkman whipped out his nutrona wand and blasted Xanthador square in the chest with an ion stream at full force. Venkman had never dared to risk that magnitude of firepower before, but the way he figured it, he had nothing left to lose. Turning his head to shield his eyes from the blinding glare, he kept pouring it on. Xanthador roared with fury as he writhed in pain.

Just then, Venkman's teammates came jogging in through the entrance from the museum. Their jaws went slack at the sight that was waiting for them. "Holy..." said Winston, stopping dead in his tracks.

"Get the big guy!" yelled Venkman.

They didn't need to be told twice. Snapping out of their awed fascination, Ray, Egon, and Winston joined in the assault. Each of them fired at a different part of the demon's oversized form, taking care not to cross the ion streams. As each one struck Xanthador's body, his screams were redoubled.

Venkman had only expected to restrain the demon. But as the barrage continued and intensified, Xanthador's body began to collapse in on itself. It started slowly, as his chest buckled, caved in, and disappeared into nothingness. Then, as if in the grip of a black hole, the rest of his body started to follow suit. His torso folded in on itself and was sucked into the empty space where his chest had been. His limbs and head went next. By the time the tip of his tail was gone, all that was left was the distant echo of Xanthador's screams.

None of the humans who were present could feel the effects of the powerful suction. However, for the ghosts assembled in the theater, it was an entirely different story. One by one at first, but then in larger numbers, the wraiths found themselves caught in the unbreakable pull, following Xanthador down into the void. Their terrified shrieks filled the room and several city blocks beyond. Once the vortex took hold in earnest, some of the phantoms realized what was happening. They strained desperately to fly away, but there was no escape. Geezil was the last to go.

And then there were none.

The Ghostbusters shut down their proton packs, and a hush fell over the theater. It took a couple of minutes for everyone to fully process the idea that the threat was over. But once the thought had a chance to settle in, the planetarium erupted into a cacophony of cheers, laughter, high fives, and slaps on the back. And the Ghostbusters were the guests of honor.

As the celebration carried on, Ray was struck by a sudden thought. He looked around, then tapped Venkman on the arm.

"Hey, Peter," he said. "Where's Goodraven?"

CHAPTER 20

Xanthador s defeat came a full month before Election Day. From that point on, though, the rest of the mayoral campaign was basically irrelevant. As it turned out, running out on the debate hadn't cost Venkman the election. It bought him the election.

Images of him blasting Xanthador were everywhere, alongside shots of Winston binding sea serpents. There were testimonials from the police, the fire department, and the International Brotherhood of Exorcists. Occult and New Age groups praised Venkman for being the only candidate to consider the "pandimensional issue" while Evangelical Christians admired his taking a strong stance against the forces of evil.

Even more remarkable, in an era of two-second sound bites, every newscast in the Tri-State Area played what later came to be known as Venkman's "New Yorkers Don't Get Scared" speech... from start to finish.

The Mayor tried to recapture good will by announcing a new counter-demon security initiative and funding a complete renovation of the Museum of Natural History and Rose Center, but it was far too late. Apparently, after seeing one candidate put his life on the line while the others stood around debating, most New Yorkers had already made up their minds.

Rumor had it that Lapinski fired a dozen random staffers in a rage after someone hung one of Venkman's "Who Ya Gonna Call?" campaign posters on a bulletin board in City Hall.

When all the votes were tallied, it was the biggest landslide in New York municipal history. Once the new year arrived, Arnie Lapinski would become a private citizen, and the Honorable Peter Venkman would be named the next Mayor of the City of New York.

Typically, in such situations, the mayor-elect spent a good deal of time around City Hall before January, meeting with the outgoing mayor and getting up to speed on policies and procedures. But it didn't work that way this time, mainly because Lapinski banned Venkman from City Hall for the duration of his term. Or as he phrased it to the appropriate personnel, "If that maggot sets one foot inside that door, shoot to kill."

The legality of such a move was questionable, to say the least, but with only two months left until the administration changed hands, it didn't seem worth fighting about. So it wasn't until the morning after his inauguration that Mayor Peter Venkrnan finally got to tour his new office.

The new Mayor arrived early, eager with anticipabon. As a courtesy, his predecessor had been invited to join him. But the outgoing Mayor was nowhere to be found, blaming his absence on the same convenient case of the flu that had kept him away from the inauguration ceremony.

"Your office, sir," said Venkman's new administrative assistant.

Venkman stepped through the door that bore his name, and found himself in another world. At the far end of the sizable room was a heavy oak desk, with an overstuffed leather chair and an American flag behind it. The desk was adorned with an expensive desk set, a phone, and a computer. A large vase of fresh flowers sat in the middle of the desk. Matching oak bookshelves lined one of the walls, providing a backdrop to a small conference table and chairs. Against the opposite wall, a sofa and more comfortable chairs surrounded a coffee table for more informal meetings - or, Venkman imagined happily, frequent naps.

"And here are the documents you requested."

"Thanks...Mindy, right?"

"Yes, sir. Will there be anything else?"

"No, I think that will do it for now."

"Shall I hold your calls while you acclimate yourself?

"You read my mind. Thanks."

Mindy walked out of the office and closed the door behind her, leaving Venkman alone.

He grinned from ear to ear.

Venkman hopped behind the desk, laid down the files, and slowly eased himself down into the chair. Leaning back, he found that it was even more comfortable than he had imagined. He closed his eyes for a moment, just to savor the feeling. He played with the buttons on his phone and hit a few random keys on his computer keyboard. Then he leaned forward and opened the file.

It was like manna from Heaven. There, Iying before him in a thick sheaf of figures and notations, was the fiscal year budget for all of New York City. His eyes gravitated straight toward the figure in bold type that represented the total. He nearly started to drool, just looking at the number of digits.

Now what should I buy first?
he thought.

There was so much that the city needed. A yacht to inspect bridges and river traffic. A personal tailor to ensure that the Mayor's wardrobe reflected well on his constituents. A villa in Europe to maintain good relations with New York's international neighbors...

Decisions, decisions...

As he considered his options, Venkman's attention drifted toward the vase of flowers. A small envelope was protruding from the bouquet. Curious, he reached over, picked it up, and removed the gift card inside.

The card bore a handwritten note that simply read: 

I'm proud of you.

Love,

Dana

Venkman sighed. A warm smile crossed his lips.

He fingered the card for a moment, and then looked back at the file of budget infonnation.

And he made a decision. 

*     *     *

Holding Oscar in one arm, Dana walked to the door. "Who is it?" she called.

"Delivery," was the reply.

"Delivery?" she said to Oscar, undoing the various locks and latches on the door. "We weren't expecting anything, were we?" She slid off the chain and opened the door.

Venkman was standing on the other side.

"Peter?" she said. "What are you doing here?"

"Visiting my best girl, the love of my life. What's it look like?" He tousled Oscar's hair, and received a delighted giggle in reply. "Yo, Butch. Whassup?"

"B-but it's your first day! You should be at work!"

Venkman kissed her lightly and sauntered into the apartment. "No problem. They've got everything under control."

Dana was so stunned that she could barely speak. "P-Peter! Be...being mayor...the city...It's a very responsible job!"

"That's what they tell me." He took Oscar from her arms and lifted the child high above his head.

"You - you've got to go back! Right now! I.. .You're the Mayor!"

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"I quit this morning."

"Very funny."

"I'm serious."

And he was. She could tell.

Dana turned pale. She was speechless. The only sound in the room was the airplane noise that Venkman made as he swooped Oscar around in a circle.

He looked at her. "Are you okay? Can I get you some water?"

The words exploded out of Dana. "Peter Venkman, you have pulled some stunts in your day, but this... ! Do you have any conception of what you've done? You're playing with eight million people's lives! Of all the self-centered, irresponsible..."

"Don't you want to ask me
why
I quit?"

"No! I want you out of here! And give me back my son!" She grabbed Oscar out of his hands. The toddler started to cry.

Venkman stayed calm. "It's because the people deserve someone better."

"What?"

"I'd be a terrible mayor," he said. "I don't know about all that stuff. And I don't much care about it either. The city needs someone who understands the in's and out's of all those issues. Someone who's not just parroting the answers that somebody gave him. Someone who cares enough to want to make life better for everyone, not just himself. Come on - really, now. Does that sound like me?"

Dana looked at him for a long time. Absently, she bounced Oscar in her arms to calm him. But other than that, she was motionless.

Quietly, she asked, "Then why did you run in the first place?"

"I dunno. It sounded good, I guess. But I was only thinking about what was in it for me. I wasn't thinking about what would be good for everyone else. When I finally did, there was only one thing I could do."

"But you're leaving New York without a mayor "

"You'd be surprised. It turns out they've got all kinds of rules and procedures for just this kind of thing. They'll have my replacement set up by the end of the day."

"An awful lot of people are going to be furious with you."

"It's not the first time."

"Don't you think it's a little late to be making this decision?"

"Probably. But it's the responsible thing to do."

Dana nodded slowly, digesting the flood of information that Venkman had handed her. "So what about you? What will you do now?"

He shrugged. "Go back to chasing ghosts, I guess. But first, I was wondering... Would you and Oscar like to come with me to look at the dinosaurs?"

"Now? We can't."

"Your two-year-old has a meeting he can't reschedule?"

"No, it's not that. The museum's being renovated. Nobody's allowed inside for months."

"The Mayor is."

"You're not the Mayor."

"They don't know that."

Dana laughed and shook her head. "You're incorrigible."

"But adorable."

"Here, hold Oscar. I'll get my coat."

The second inauguration ceremony was cobbled together hastily, so there was none of the pomp and spectacle that had been present the day before. It was held in one of the larger conference rooms at City Hall. The crowd was small, limited to the mayor-elect, his family, a handful of city officials, and a few select members of the press.

The new mayor held his hand on a Bible as he repeated the words to his oath of office: "...do solemnly swear that I will support the Constitution of the United States, and the Constitution of the State of New York; and that I will faithfully discharge the duties of the office of mayor according to the best of my ability."

As soon as the words left his lips, there was a flurry of camera flashes, hearty handshakes among politicians, and jubilant hugs and kisses among the family. When the excitement began to die down, the president of the city council whispered in the Mayor's ear. The council president took him by the arm, and stepped forward toward the press people.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the council president said, "it is with great pride that I present His Honor, the Mayor of New York City...

"...Winston Zeddemore."