13This was the next part to the story. I had planned to do a chapter in between, but never got that far. So essentially, this is another small excerpt. Hope you enjoy. Pete goes to a bar. All kinds of fun.
junichiblue
Power Trip: Chapter Two
Despite Egon's cocoa 101 session, and the fact that both of us thought I was cured, the dream kept resurfacing, causing me night after night of aggravation and sleeplessness. The next few mornings went something like this.
Day one – 12:15 pm.
"Hey sleeping beauty, you gonna get up before the sun sets?" Winston's voice rang loud in the quiet room.
"Hmm?" I scrunched my face up into what could only have looked like a brown haired potato doll, then glared with one eye at the intruder. "Thought I locked that." I mumbled.
"I don't get you Pete. It's nearly one in the afternoon." He crossed his arms. "Man I know zombies that are mo' alive than you."
"So? What's yer point," I grumbled into my pillow. That question was followed by silence. But in it I heard another question. So, resignedly, I answered. "Nightmares."
"Oh." There was a brief pause. "Shoot man, why didn't you tell us. We'd have left you alone."
"Told Spengler," I mumbled.
"Alright." He nodded. "Well if you want to talk about it with me, I'm all ears."
"Mmmfff, thanks Zed. Let you know…" and I drifted back off into the welcoming embrace of a dreamless afternoon sleep.
XXXXX
Day two – One thirty pm.
Day Three – Three fifteen pm
Day four – crack of noon… a new record
Day five – refer to days two and three
Day six – refer to day five
XXXXX
Day eleven
My head hurt.
My neck hurt?
I sat up clumsily in amongst a tangle of sheets and tentatively rubbed my tender throat with the tips of my fingers. Felt like bruises coming out. Strange. I don't remember doing that on any of our recent busts. Recent for me being well over a week ago.
The guys had noticed the not too subtle black marks developing under my green eyes, and I had half joked that I was considering buying a whole box of cocoa mugs since I couldn't seem to keep mine clean. That kept them back... at least for the time being... till I could figure out what was going on.
For the past week, the ghosts had decided to take a vacation, so work was slim, and but for a few weak class threes, the Ghostbusters had some free time. So, Egon and I had agreed to let my nightmare induced insomnia slide for the time being. I had bouts of it many times before and a week of poor sleep was nothing out of the ordinary. But it usually settled.
Here it was, though, another mid afternoon and I was barely conscious. I levered myself onto the edge of my bed, rubbed a hand across my protesting stomach, and was mildly surprised when I looked down at my open wallet on the floor near my foot. Then it hit me. I remembered. The bar. The girl. And that really obnoxious guy who was picking fights with… no wait… that was me.
Naturally, it being night time, I couldn't sleep, so shortly after midnight I had slithered out of bed and into an old pair of jeans and a gray sweat shirt and made my way down several city blocks until I'd come across a little bar.
It looked rough. But I felt rough tonight. So I went in, drew a stool up to the bar and ordered a double whatever, which I promptly chased with a beer. The bartender was a brute, which probably served him well in this particular neighborhood. He served up my drinks without raising an eyebrow. No doubt he'd mixed up a lot of potent concoctions in this dump.
After my second drink, I made a decision. If I couldn't fall asleep without nightmares then I was going to get them so damn drunk they'd be giggling hysterically to themselves in a far corner of my mind, and leave me in peace.
Egon had, not once, but twice, tried to force feed me sleeping pills of course, but I hated anything in pill form. Pills dulled the senses. They made my brain feel like it was stuffed with cotton candy. I hated feeling disconnected. It didn't matter if I was dealing with ghosts or people. Either way, at home or out in the field, I preferred to keep both of my feet attached to the ground.
Liquid form, on the other hand, was beginning to look like a solution. Besides, I wasn't any use as a ghostbuster or even a psychologist these days, so what use was I?
It didn't take long until I had gotten reacquainted with my old college buddies Jack, Ron, Sam and Bud.
Turned out none of those guys really got along all that well together. And no less than one hour later, I'd staggered into the men's bathroom and devoted myself to ridding my stomach of my fair weather friends.
Great. Now I had to start all over again.
I made my way unsteadily back over to the bar, not caring to look at the few unsavory characters lodged there. Briefly I wondered if any of them new my dad.
"Beer," I demanded.
The bartender regarded me for a long moment. "No."
I looked at him, dumfounded. "No?" I repeated slowly, with a curl to my lip that only hinted at aggression.
He placed two freakishly large and hairy hands on the bar in front of me, and leaned towards me.
"Look, guy. You've had too much for two of you already. I may run a shit hole but I'm not out to ruin anybody. You're welcome back here any time, but for now, I suggest you go home to your…" he paused, not wanting to judge my appearance. "Just go home," he finished surprisingly gently.
Ok, so he wasn't a bad guy after all. He had a point. I really was tired now. It was two in the morning and it would be another twenty… (hic)… ok, make that forty minute walk back to the fire house. I nodded politely, pushed myself up from the bar and turned away from him, and ran right into something… soft… and beautiful.
"Oh!," a raven haired girl gasped, as she stumble back a step. Her dark eyes raised to my blurry green ones and I saw a faint glow of red spread over her cheeks. It was followed by a shy smile.
I leaned forward, inadvertently looking past her face and into what had softened my blow. Don't think she caught that or I'd have been the unlucky recipient of a smacked cheek, a gesture I'd received so many times I couldn't count on two hands. Why? I don't know. Probably because after too much time between dates I lose some of my cool and turn into a salivating dog. That could be it.
And come to think of it, it had been awhile. So I took special care to keep my cool. I took one of her hands into mine, which had crossed up over her body in a instinctive protective gesture after our collision.
"I'm s…shorry 'bout that mish".
Very smooth. Really pouring on the old Venkman charm now.
Her smile widened into a full grin. "It's okay uh… Peter," she said hesitantly.
"Hey!" I raised an eyebrow. "Do I know you? 'Cause I know I'd know I knew you… if I knew… uh…"
Yup, giving a whole new meaning to the word brilliance.
She mercifully raised a finger to my lips, then leaned in and whispered, "I've seen you on tv," a knowing grin on her lips. "All of you guys, the Ghostbusters." She blushed before continuing. "You're my favorite." She followed that little tid bit with a very effective wink. Damn. I was waking up now. And cool was walking right out the door. Go dog go.
Our magic moment was abruptly cut short by a deep raspy voice.
"Hey missy, you gonna come give me what I'm paying for or what?"
Excuse me? I watched her smile turned to a grimace and she drew her hand away, as she turned her head away from me. "Hang on a sec," she replied to the large, very unattractive guy at the table behind her.
She turned back to me, and seeing the expression on my face, filled me in. "Boyfriend. Sort of. Wants his beer." She shrugged her pretty shoulders.
"Ahh". I nodded. Asshole.
"Well," she signaled behind me. "I should really.."
"Uh ya. Was nice meeting you miss…" I leaned forward.
"Missy." I must have given her a blank look for at least five full seconds. She just grinned. "It actually is Missy."
"Missy" I repeated, taking care to pronounce it despite my drunkenness. Missy. I thought it was a beautiful name, (even if it did sound a little like a stage name.)
"Hey. Slut. Get your face away from princess, and get up to the bar." Raspy yelled.
Whoa. Back the bus up. My hands curled up into tight balls. As I watched Missy's expression fall to the floor, everything else began to fade away. I uttered a low barely audible growl, and stepped neatly around Missy. Before I even knew what was going on, I had my right hand wrapped in Raspy's hair and was bouncing his large ugly head off the table, with a satisfying thud.
"You don't (bang) talk to ladies (bang) like that (bang)."
That's when all hell broke loose. Apparently Raspy had friends. Two really big ones. In fact it seemed they'd all caught a piece of the same ugly stick.
I had just started my tutoring session in manners when two pairs of hands twisted painfully into the back of my shirt and launched me forward across Raspy's table. It knocked the wind out of me for a second, but I sucked in a breath and quickly began gathering up my sprawling limbs. I only had a second to react or it was game over, I knew that much. I'd learned the rules or rather lack of 'em, back in my younger days when I'd had to earn respect of those who'd wanted to push me down. Not a part of my past I mentioned much to anyone, but thanks to my dad, I had cut my teeth on the streets, honing my skills, learning to strike hard, fast, unexpectedly.
Time slowed to a drag and I heard the hollow scrape of glass as the bottom of a bottle slid across the surface of the wooden table before it was hoisted up in the air. Boy, was I awake now.
"You boys made one mistake," I growled as I flipped myself onto my back, Raspy out cold beside my arm.
"You let go."
I gave the one with the bottle a feral grin, as he brought it down towards my face. That's when I really started to impress myself. I reached up and caught his wrist with one hand and the bottle with the other. I was always quick as a cat in football, especially when the offensive quarterback was a demon, but this was just… inhuman.
I finished off with a goal winning kick to the side of his face and he went down hard. The other one, sensing it was his turn for a kick at the cat, lunged at me grabbing my foot and heaving me forward, right into his eager hands. That's when my winning streak came to an abrupt end. I reached up and caught his wrists in an effort to keep him from wrapping his mitts around my neck and begin to choke the stuffing out of me, but his arms were long and thick and I couldn't budge them. My face and head began to pound, hot from the blood, and the room began to spin, more so. We stayed in that position for a few seconds, until he suddenly backed off. Actually, as it turned out, he was bodily ripped off of me by my good friend from behind the bar.
I gasped and rolled off the table and onto my feet, mostly. A pair of soft hands took one of my arms and I turned to see Missy staring down at me, a completely love struck expression on her face. Well, that's what I saw anyway.
I coughed and rubbed my throat for a minute. "Uh sorry 'bout that," I rasped. Swallowing hard I straightened myself up and brushed off my shirt, more to avoid her gaze as to actually remove any dirt. Finally I looked up and studied the scene. Blood, beer, broken noses, general destruction. Not my usual handy work. But still, a good time had by all.
I turned back to Missy, swayed a little, smiled meekly and shrugged. Then a thought hit me and I brightened.
"So much is too much," I stated triumphantly.
The same awed expression on her face, Missy shook her head, not really left to right or up and down, more round n round. I regarded her from lovely head to toe, just to make sure she was alright, then abruptly turned and headed for the street. If I'd been remotely sober, I would have loved to go anywhere she wanted to take me, but right now, the only thing still on my mind was bed… alone. Crazy. I know. The adrenaline and near rage, that only moments ago was a rushing torrent through my veins, was already beginning to fade, and I knew I needed what was left of it just to get me home.
"Hey! Buddy!," a bass voice boomed across the now even dumpier looking bar.
Ah shit. Reality hit me. Where the hell did I think I was going? I'd just trashed the place. The cops were probably on their way. I'd have to explain it to the guys. And if I got charged it would make the papers and then, aww shit… not only would my own reputation be tarnished but I'd be affecting Ghostbusters and my friends lives as well. That was definitely not acceptable. I needed to step up and face this before it got out of hand. I stopped, sighed, and turned, framed in the doorway and back lit by the street light outside, and regarded the blurry barkeep.
"Remember what I said. You're welcome back here any time," he grinned, still holding the meekly protesting dirt bag by his scruffy collar with one enormous hand. "This one's on the house."
I quirked the corner of my mouth, nodded and let the door squeak shut behind me. As soon as it shut, I expelled a huge lungfull of breath, oriented myself towards the fire hall and stumbled forward.
I would be back here, many times in the next few weeks.
XXXXX
"Peter."
"Hmmphlf?"
"Time to get up Peter. What would you like for breakfast?"
I blinked incoherently, and slowly pushed the world into some semblance of focus. What time was it? If it was before noon egg heads would roll. Slowly I lifted my head a few inches off of my warm pillow and squinted at the blur that was Egon.
"How about a nice steaming bowl of 'go away and let me sleep'?" I responded, as I dropped my protesting head back down into the mushy depths of my pillow.
"Peter, this has gone on for quite long enough. You can't possibly expect to continue to function in this manner. You have to do something about your current state." He abruptly leaned back and waved his hand under his nose. "And your current smell."
"No I don't," I mumbled.
Well of course I did. This was ridiculous. Out prowling the streets all night, drinking, fighting, doing all the things that made me the person I had so desperately avoided becoming. I had clawed my way through my youth, dragged my ass through college, got my degree, and opened a business that no one else on the planet was crazy enough to even think of. I'd done it with my friends help of course, the ones who had not only helped me scrape through my first years of school, but who had meticulously picked away at the Venkman wall that I had so carefully constructed in my early years to keep people out and my psyche secure.
Spengler stood over me for a full minute. He was planning, plotting. I knew it. I could practically hear his neurons firing. But then he sighed, said he'd give me and hour and left.