Ghostbusters: Resurrection

5. Grief and Ghost Testing

*Note: this work is an 18 chapter novella, not a collection of shorts, best started at chapter one. Rating PG13*

After the seance and possession, Egon can't manifest again for a couple days. It took too much focus. He's dissipated.

Waiting for him to re-form is torturous. Ray can not stand understimulation.

Since Janine told him not to and Ray has a thick streak of contrary, he reads the letters. Egon's letters to Janine and Winston from the year of his death.

Winston's letter is full of numbers, as he'd said it would be. Ray thinks that some of it is dates, some could be Columbia library call numbers, longitude/latitude coordinates, lock or safe combinations, bank accounts- any number of things. He'll come back to it. Perhaps some of it is a code or cypher. He'll marinate on it. And he'll ask Egon when he's back.

Janine's letters are difficult. They don't make sense. And the little snatches of clarity he can glean from the jumble, those glimpses make him feel really really sad. His name is mentioned often in the last three. Janine was right, they hurt to try to read.

Ray grieves that Egon's mind was clearly not under his full control for at least the year leading up to his death. Maybe longer. It seems, the once brilliant man had broken under the strain of doing so much, so very alone for so very long. No one loving him, taking care of him, believing him. Ray is wracked with guilt.

Raymond plays his harmonica. Drinks too much tea, not enough water. Paces. Researches. Plays blues albums at top volume. Eats only crunchy, salty foods, and only standing up. Reads. Paces some more.

That night he dreams of Egon. They're sitting side by side on a porch swing, looking out over sweet smelling wheat fields, and crisp, whispering corn fields. The sun is setting, putting on a real pink and orange sky show. Birds are singing somewhere near by. The swing creaks pleasantly. Egon and Ray swing while the sun sets. Egon's arm over Ray's shoulder, squeezing him. Ray cuddled into Egon's side. They stay swinging like that as long as they can. Until the sun is down and the stars come out.

Ray wakes up early, laying on his back, already crying, salty tears rolling into his ears. He lets them roll and lays there until he's empty.

The thing about when someone has been mad for decades is, when they finally stop, there's so much sadness waiting to be felt. A dam has burst inside of Ray and it isn't killing him like he'd feared it would. He is not drowning. He's floating. It's making him feel better.

"What did I even think the Blues was about, man?" he asks himself.

Feeling sad is so much better than feeling nothing. And under all those stale old layers of anger, what Ray feels the most now, stronger inside him than ever, is his Love for Egon. When he was ready to feel it again, it was right there, clean and bright and sharp. Egon always.
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The next day, Spengler's ghost comes back as a wind in the shop. Ruffling Ray's hair and the pages of his book. Blowing out Ray's candles.

Ray always has to burn candles, rules of the occult book business. The customers expect a bit of witchy ambience. Ray should also have a fat, fluffy, elderly calico cat around the place, it was practically a requirement, but sadly, he was allergic. Candles, incense, tea and crystals would have to do it. The ghost might actually be good for business, come to think of it.

At some point, like many widowed spouses throughout time, Ray just starts talking out loud to his dead partner in case he's close by and listening invisibly.