letting the days go by, let the water hold me down

15 April 2006
BMT Astoria Line
Ditmars Boulevard Station
Astoria, Queens, NY

Ray had a fondness for Milliways as a place to relax and snag something to eat, but there were times and places where the Bar just wasn't an option. On the way home from Long Island, for example. He'd been out to visit his nephews and work with them on the padawan schtick at home, and it had been a really long day, and he just couldn't get away with going to the Bar. Peter knew he'd been headed for the Island, for one thing. That meant that Ray was likely to divert through Astoria and pick up Greek food, and that meant bringing home extra for the Firehouse gang. If he didn't, Peter would make pouty faces at him and probably short-sheet the bed.

Sometimes Ray wished he weren't a creature of such well-known habits.

Not that it really mattered. He didn't mind feeding the gang. But sometimes-

The train rumbled to a stop. Ditmars Boulevard was the last stop for the elevated line, in the heart of Astoria, between the Grand Central Parkway and the approach to the Triborough Bridge. The smell of charcoal and meat fairly smacked Ray in the nose as he trotted down the steps to street level- souvlaki vendors. There was a cart selling marinated, roasted lamb on a stick on every corner for blocks; you couldn't get a hot dog in Astoria for love nor money. The place was as Greek as it was possible to get outside Athens, for all that Starbucks had finally made an intrusion and there was a McDonald's tucked cringing between a bakery and a tobacco seller's in the shadow of the El. For that ethnicity, Ray was thankful. It meant that he had one place to get really good gyros, with proper tzatziki sauce on them.

The grubby little shop was called John's Pizza and Gyro. John had a last name that would've wrenched most English speakers' tongues, and rumor had it he got his culinary start working out of a lunch truck in Newark, but he knew his business all right. The shop was busy even well after the usual dinner rush, with eight or nine people waiting or eating in a space really only meant for six. Ray put up a hand as soon as the bell rang over the door. "John? John, it's me-"

"I see you, Doctor Stantz! The usual, yes?"

"You got it," Ray said with a grin. All right, maybe being a creature of habit wasn't so bad after all. He found himself a spot out of the way of the next incoming customer, leaning back against the wall under a faded painting of some Aegean island or other. It wouldn't be long-

Huh, that was odd. What was that smell? Sort of like smoke... He almost called out to John again, but it really wasn't a good idea to tell a restaurant owner his place smelled like fire, he figured.

The man who'd come in just after him blinked a few times, looking towards the kitchen. Apparently he felt no such compunction. "Okay, what's burning?"

Heads lifted. Eyes opened wide. Thick grey smoke billowed out of the back of the shop without warning. Ray bolted for the door-

The other man got there ahead of him. "Oh, hell no," the blond moaned, jiggling the doorknob furiously.

Ray's stomach sank. "Stuck?" he asked. The place was filling with smoke. He instinctively pulled his shirt up over his mouth and nose and started to crouch.

"Stuck," the man confirmed. "We should- Do you have a cell phone?"

"Well, yeah-" Ray held it up, sliding into a crouch as the smoke rapidly pooled and thickened under the low ceiling. "I- sir! Sir, are you all right?"

The smoke had reached the other man's face, apparently; the blond's eyes rolled back in his head, and he toppled forward. Ray lunged to catch him, suddenly a bit dizzy himself. Over one shoulder he could hear the noises of other people toppling, thumping, hitting the ground-

Oh, this isn't good, he thought muzzily as he realized his shirt really wasn't built for filtering out smoke at all. He tried the doorknob one more time. At least he could see the flashing lights of police or firefighters or something out there. John must've made the call himself.

... funny that they didn't seem to be trying to get the door open from outside, though...

Thump.

The thing about New York is that while you can find an audience for anything at all, from an emergency response situation to opera to live nude dog wrestling, it is generally not an audience that pays attention to all the details. When a small Greek restaurant is being evacuated because of reported smoke and possible fire, the audience does not always note that the restaurant in question shows no signs of actual fire. Neither do they necessarily note down the provenances of the ambulances that pull up, or where they are supposed to go with their unconscious patients.

And even if they do, the average New York City audience can't be bothered to follow those audiences to their erstwhile destinations. Sometimes those things go off course, and never get to the hospital. Sometimes they go other places, and hand over their patients, and just... vanish into the crowds.

Things disappear all the time in the big city. People, too. New York is like that.

turn out the lights, don't try to save me

"Okay, this is insane," Peter said. "Ray is never this late. And even when he's late he's not this late. And even when he is he calls-"

"Peter, calm down," Egon said. "There's probably a perfectly reasonable explanation for it, if you're willing to accept Ray's definition of reasonable."

"No, I think Peter's right, Egon," said Winston, looking up from his solitary chess game. "This kind of thing isn't Ray's style. If he's gonna up and vanish without telling us-"

"He did mention Daniel Fenton's request through Milliways-"

"Nah, Ray tells us before he does that. And it's not Romana's style either. She brings him back fifteen minutes after they've left." Winston moved one of the knights. "If Ray's gone off alone, we'd be hearing about it by now. There'd be explosions, or fire, or the phone would be ringing off the hook downstairs."

Theatrically, Peter cupped one hand to his ear, but there was nothing.

"Turn on the news," Egon suggested. "Maybe something's burning."

But no- the city, such as it was, was still standing. All the networks said so. Even the local news on cable didn't seem to have anything unusual to report; Winston sighed and switched off the TV. "We'll try again at ten. Probably just tuned in too late for the reports. Peter, call his sister. Maybe something's wrong with one of the boys..."

---

His back felt stiff and his mouth felt sour, like that time back in seventh grade when his bionator had fallen out in his sleep and he'd popped it back in because going to rinse it off would've awakened the already-cranky cat. But there was no bionator and no cat, only a moment of blank 'huh?' thought, and then memory-

Ray coughed once and sat bolt upright.

For one heart-stopping moment he thought he recognized the room he was in, but then he blinked. It was only a trick of the light. It wasn't the interrogation room in the Palace of Justice. He hadn't wound up in John Preston's world after all... not that that helped him figure out where he HAD wound up, but it wasn't Libria, and that was sort of important. (Especially since he was pretty sure Librian interrogators got cheesed if you drooled on the table, which he seemed to have done.) So...

Not Libria. Not, unfortunately, anywhere else he recognized. But grey walls and a steel table, and too much light in some places, not enough in others- the corners were deeply shadowed, and the door looked like he'd have to run his fingers over every inch to find out where it opened. He started to stand up-

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," came a voice from one of the shadows. Ray's head snapped around immediately.

A tall man stepped out of the shadow with an unpleasant snigger. His suit was a dark blue, his tie striped; his skin was pale, and his hair was red. Ray's stomach clenched into a knot that would've sent Boy Scouts into hysterics as the other man placed both palms down on the steel table and smiled.

"It's been a long time, hasn't it, Dr. Stantz?" said Walter Peck.