Welp, here goes.
---
Mother had once said he had a fever when he was small and it had burned right through something inside him. He believed her of course, but he doubted the fever had burned all the things he needed away as she had believed.
He was a genius, after all. His companion, though taciturn, had to give him that much at least.
Not that anyone else could see it. When they looked upon his brilliance they did not shudder with fear or wonder. No, they saw only piles of junk. But junk that worked and junk that did something, which was more than most could say of cobbling together old rotary fans and car batteries.
He was a genius and the fever hadn't burned that away from him.
He had once tried to befriend his enemies, but int he end he was ridiculed and rejected. Misunderstood by those of lesser intellect, he liked to believe. That pivotal moment had changed the course of his life, creating for him a cause by which to guide his purpose. He would prove them wrong.
After all, he was a genius.
So began the grand and glorious struggle, time after time capturing - or coming close to capturing - their beloved and not-so-beloved companion. Time and time again the creature slipped from his grasp, only to fall victim to his next trap, his next invention.
His next stroke of genius.
Like now, he crouched and waited patiently in the rain, shushing his companion impatiently and striking when the moment was right. Whoosh went the net, splat went the ghost.
"Hey Dweeb, beat it!" Drat. The psychologist.
He gathered his prize and raced away in a hurry, only to find that the ghost had slipped away yet again. Cursing his luck he jumped into his van for a quick get away, realizing only too late that he had left his sole companion behind.
When he arrived home to his empty apartment he could do nothing but wail at his lack of genius in securing her before he fled.
That fever had burned, burned, burned and left nothing behind.
***
"Did he hurt you, Spud?" Peter asked as Slimer returned. As usual the green blob just shook his head and floated up the stairs for a snack.
Peter just shrugged his shoulders and went to shut the window. It was probably a bad idea in the long run for Slimer to keep playing along with Dweeb, but without knowing the man's real name or where he lived there was really no way to report him to anyone. On the ground outside something caught his eye and he grimaced, reaching out and picking it up off the filthy sidewalk. After a moment of thought he sat it carefully on the outside windowsill and retreated to the other side of the garage where he could keep an eye on it.
In the rain outside a pink stuffed dog named Elizabeth waited impatiently for her master.
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