A few days later, things in New York had started regaining some normalcy. There was no trace of the demonic Cenobite creations anywhere in town. Relief crews were cleaning up the damage all over the city. Some local television stations had begun broadcasting again. Peter and Winston were watching the news coverage of the relief efforts. They said nothing to each other. Egon was tinkering in his lab. Janine was solemnly filing her nails at her desk, picture of her late boyfriend turned face down. In the few days' time, Ray pretty much been absent from the firehouse and hadn't spoken at all to his colleagues. So it was surprising when he called all of them into Egon's lab for an impromptu meeting. With a heavy heart he began.
"Guys. I'm sorry. I should have known that Pinhead would have lied to me to get what he wanted, and that he'd take advantage of my desire for the secrets of Labyrinth. I'm sorry for lying to you about my dream. I was sure you'd try to talk me out of the deal and so I didn't want to tell you…"
Peter connected a right hook to Ray's jaw. "Damn right you should be." Egon and Winston tried to help Ray up from the floor but he motioned them off forlornly. He continued.
"When we first started Ghostbusters, I thought it would be a fantastic ride. In addition to publicity and parapsychological advancements I pictured an extermination service: work that was fun. I never expected to suffer the finality of death."
"Ray, you and I both know we've almost been killed dozens of times, man," said Winston.
"Yeah, but it didn't seem real because it was us facing the threat. We would be the first killed. Three deaths on your conscience are too much."
"Raymond, where are you going with this?" Asked Egon. Ray sighed.
"My sister Sam still has her dairy farm in central Ohio. When I was younger I always liked going to the country to clear my head whenever something was bothering me…I found peace there."
"Don't tell me," started Janine. Ray cut her off.
"I'm resigning from Ghostbusters effective immediately. I can't do this job anymore."
"No, Ray. You are a part of this team; you are a founding member," said Janine, tears welling in her eyes. "You're the heart."
Ray felt his own eyes misting too. "Why are you arguing against it? I caused the death of our allies and your boyfriend! Because of my own greed!" The room was dead silent. The pudgy parapsychologist inhaled his emotions and continued after a few frustrating moments. "I just… need to think about things; to leave this behind. You guys can come visit me when calls are slow. You know the address."
"Is that final?" Peter asked solemnly. Ray nodded. Peter choked, "write me often." The lead Ghostbuster embraced his friend, and the others joined. Ray exited the lab and walked to the sleeping quarters. It only took ten minutes for him to pack his stuff. With the others shadowing him, Ray Stantz threw his suitcase in the trunk of his Civic and entered the driver's seat. Waving goodbye, he sped off down the road. Janine began sobbing and Egon embraced her. Peter and Winston silently watched their comrade's car until it disappeared out of view.
…
Things were relatively slow around the firehouse for about the next week. The Ghostbusters held a small funeral for their late accountant Louis Tully and notified his extended family of his death. Egon again had retreated to his lab, only now Janine was admitted once in a while. Peter had finished a press statement and negotiated payment with the New York City government, which even included a prosthetic forearm for the suave Ghostbuster. He opted to mimic horror movie hero Ash by getting an alternate Proton Gun attachment. Winston spent a lot of time at his favorite baseball park, in the batting cages. They got a postcard in the mail from Ray that mentioned he was doing okay and enjoyed the farm work. That Thursday morning, Janine answered a call from her desk.
"Hello, Ghostbusters… You do? At the Manhattan Park Complex? 121 Central Park West. Okay! Thank you."
She rang the fire bell, summoning all three Ghostbusters. They slid down the fire pole from the second floor, one right after the other.
"You coming along on this one?" Asked Peter.
"You bet I am," replied Janine, as she rose from her desk and went over to her new locker. They all suited up and piled into Ecto-1. The ambulance roared to life and burst through the building's iron doors, sirens echoing into the warm autumn day.
…
Outside a small head shop in Fremont, California, a tie-dye clad stoner stared at a small wooden cube on a velvet-covered table. Each of the cube's eight faces was decorated with an intricate pattern of bonze lines. Each one pointed toward the small circle in the center of each face. "What's with this box, dude?"
The turban-clad traveling merchant replied with a sinister grin, "What's your pleasure?"
THE END?