Rick had a strong feeling about something else. Cole was sure they'd seen a ghost, and any silence on his part was probably disappointment that his lovenest had come with a few rotten eggs. A ghost wasn't exactly a welcome bedfellow—female or not.
But, the lady hadn't touched him. Cole hadn't had the little pleasure of feeling his flesh probed by those icy hands. She also hadn't asked Cole for help. Cole might be able to sleep tonight.
But Rick knew he wouldn't. Not a chance. Not when he was sure she'd worked for Genetechnic. Not when she'd asked him for help. Not when he was certain, as impossible as it seemed, that the lady was still alive. And that her time was running out.
* * * *
Cole picked up the phone. “Calloway domicile. Head domiciliac speaking.”
Jason laughed. “I was wondering if you wanted to stop by tonight. We can watch the game at my place.”
“Does this mean you're actually taking a night off?”
“Sure thing. Simon's coming, too.”
“What about Rick?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing. Where is Rick, anyway?” Jason sounded puzzled. “I've been leaving messages for him all week. Simon said he hasn't talked to him, either.”
Cole was surprised. “Usually I see Rick on the weekends, but I've been kind of busy.”
“Yeah,” Jace said. “Simon told me about Gena. Is this one serious?”
“Not likely,” Cole replied, but his mind was still on Rick's absence. If Cole didn't go over to Rick's, Rick usually made a point of stopping by. “It has been a while, hasn't it?”
It took Jason a second to realise they were talking about Rick again. “Maybe he's found himself a ‘Gena’. Hey—you never know—Daphne might've turned up on his doorstep.”
“Daphne only exists inside his computer,” Cole said, a little derisively. “His e-mail girlfriend's probably fat and fifty. He should go for one he can get his hands on.”
“Is that what you use?”
Cole chuckled. “It's not the part they like best, but it's a start.” He was silent for a moment, then said abruptly, “I wonder what maggot he's got in his brain this time.”
“You know how he gets when he's working on something—”
“Maybe,” Cole said, suddenly worried. “But remember how pissed off I was when Rick didn't help me move? He didn't bother to call, so I thought he'd just forgotten.”
Cole could hear the smile in Jason's voice. “Typical. Lost in his research, was he?”
“Probably. But he's still not picking up his messages. Are you sure that you and Simon haven't heard from him?”
“It's only been a couple of weeks.”
“Yeah, but it's not like Rick. I tried his work—oh—over a week ago. He was off on sick leave that day. I never got around to ringing back.” Cole added regretfully, “I thought he was home with the flu. Maybe I should have checked.”
“Maybe I should pay him a visit.”
Cole didn't like the professional tone to Jason's voice. “No way, Jace. If you show up there, acting all doctor-like, you'll make him feel like a fool.”
“Thanks,” Jason replied sarcastically.
“Think about it, Jace. Rick must have realised by now that I've already moved, and that he screwed up.” A new thought occurred to him. “Hell, I bet he doesn't even know where to find me now. The last thing he knew I was moving into that mausoleum.” The architectural dream had lost its charm after Cole had discovered it was haunted. “Either that, or he's too embarrassed to show his face. I think it's about time I go bother him.”
“Cole?” For the first time, Jason sounded worried. Richard Lockmann was his friend, too, and he had the feeling something was wrong.
Cole put the phone back to his ear. “Speaking.”
Jason felt a little foolish. “Let me know if he's okay.”
“Sure thing.” Cole slammed down the phone and loped out of the house.
Chapter Two
Cole stood for a moment in the doorway. He couldn't believe his eyes.
The place was a wreck, and for a moment he thought the worst: that someone had ransacked Rick's house, and Rick along with it. Then, he spied a kind of order within the disorder. Books stacked, papers spread—not flung. “Rick?” he called out hesitantly.
“Here,” Rick mumbled.
It took Cole a moment to segregate Rick from the piles of junk around him, but when he finally did, his startled whistle was enough to alert Rick.
You knew this wasn't going to be easy, Rick told himself. You must be looking guilty as hell.
But, Cole hadn't even noticed the guilty look. He was too stunned by the change in Rick's appearance. “Rick?” he repeated uncertainly.
“Nice of you to visit, Cole. Now, go away. I'm busy,” Rick answered, opting for avoidance, rather than confrontation. He began to shuffle through some of the books on the sofa, and was quickly side-tracked into looking for a specific passage. If only I could sleep, he thought for the hundredth time. My brain would be a helluva lot clearer.
Cole wasn't sure what to do. Rick looked like hell: unshaven, haggard, exhausted. The dark circles under his eyes made his face look gaunt. Cole began to wish Jason had come along.
“Didn't you pick up your messages?” Cole asked, frustrated, trying to hide his concern. I should've come by sooner— When Rick hadn't come to help him move. When Rick didn't return his calls. When Rick's office said he was home sick—
It had only been two weeks.
Okay—three. But, Rick might have been busy. Cole looked at the room. Correction—he was busy. And I was too busy with Gena to realise how much time had gone by. Gena lived in the house next door. Cole's affair with his new neighbour had been short, sweet, and time-consuming.
Cole shrugged away the twinges of guilt and went right to the point. “What's wrong with you, anyway?”
“Nothing—” Rick began.
But, by this time, Cole was already picking his way through the stacks of books, looking at the titles. “What is this shit? ‘Metaphysical Encounters’?” He picked up another one. “'The Conscious vs. the Unconscious Mind’?” He glanced over at his friend, who was still refusing to look at him. “Trying to find out if fungus have an afterlife?” he joked. At his own words, Cole paled. Rick wasn't still thinking about that “close encounter", was he?
Rick didn't even seem to hear him. Cole picked up a plate, that was piled high with cigarette butts. “And what the hell is this?” he asked incredulously. “You don't smoke!”
“Didn't,” Rick corrected.
At least he's listening now. Cole took a look at the stubborn expression on Rick's face, and decided to opt for a more subtle approach. He walked over to a chair, and tipped out its load of paper. Rick didn't even flinch at his spilled research. Cole plopped down, stretched out his legs, and leaned back—striving for a relaxed pose.
“Rick—you don't need to worry. If you've listened to any of my messages, you know I didn't rent that place.” Cole's sigh of relief was gusty, as he admitted, “Believe it or not, they gave me my money back.” He chuckled. “Some fool came in and offered twice what they were asking. Being Genetechnic, they took it.”
Rick had been avoiding Cole's eyes—afraid that his friend, who knew him so well, would be shocked by the haunted look in his own. It scared me, the last time I looked in the mirror. Rick had flung a shirt over the mirror in the lounge—uncomfortable with his own fear. Now, he looked at Cole, knowing that he had to tell him the truth—or Cole might never forgive him. Cole's last words had given him the opening he needed. All he had to do was take it.
“Cole—”
Cole glanced at him quickly, glad that Rick was finally going to talk to him. Maybe I can find out what's bugging him—
Rick's small smile was as grim as the look in his eyes. His words were hesitant, uneasy. “Twice and a half.”
Cole was startled. “What—?”
“The fool offered two-and-a-half times what they were asking
.”
“How the hell do you know that?”
“Because that fool you were talking about?” Cole nodded, and Rick could tell from his expression that he was already guessing the rest of it. “That fool was me.”
* * * *
Sacchara sat in Vizar's office. He stubbed out yet another half-burnt cigarette. As a way of cutting down, it wasn't all that successful, but this wasn't exactly the time in his life for Sacchara to break a bad habit. He figured his bad habits were all that was holding him together.
“I tell you,” he repeated insistently, “I've seen her.”
“That's impossible.” Daniel Vizar's voice was husky. He wasn't about to let Sacchara know it all, either—the “all” being that no less than five of his employees had been up here to report Caro's presence. That Caro had popped in to visit him—or threaten him, depending on how you looked at it.
It was easier with the others. All of them more or less believed Caroline Denaro was away on sabbatical. Her presence had been explained by variations on a theme: late departure, surprise visit, and anything else he could think of. What he couldn't explain away had been why Denaro had chosen to visit in her birthday suit.
Let them think she's flipped. And the sabbatical is actually extended leave. It could actually work in their favour, when she eventually died. Or if we need to terminate her.
Vizar decided to change the subject. “I'm still looking for a replacement.”
“Hell! It's been nearly a month, Daniel! How long are we going to let this go on?”
“As long as it takes. I can't afford to use anybody from inside the facility. It has to be someone who didn't know her—and wouldn't understand any messages that she might have left.”
At that, Justin glanced at him sharply. “Do you think that's a problem? How close are you to deciphering her notes?”
“Deciphering is no longer the problem, Justin. We've got them translated, but at least half of her notations are missing.”
“Smart.”
“And greedy.” Daniel shook his head. “I knew Caro would give us problems. I just didn't know how many.”
“What do you think her chances are?”
“Of recovery?” Vizar frowned. “Nil. We can't afford to let her replacement know just how sensitive the situation is.”
“In other words, you don't intend to try to bring her back, do you?”
“I don't know how the hell we can. I just want to make sure that whatever happened to her will at least prove to be a learning experience.”
“In that case, you damn well better keep her alive. We can learn a lot more from continued observation and testing, than we can from dissection.”
* * * *
Rick had been expecting Cole to stomp around, giving his “How the hell could you?!” tirade. It bothered him that Cole didn't react the way he'd expected, and his tired brain couldn't puzzle out the reason why.
Instead, Cole quickly looked away, stood up, and began to pace back and forth. Rick didn't know what to say. When Cole was agitated, he usually moved randomly; seeming to fill up the space around him with his unpredictable, hit-or-miss, movements. Never in this orderly, almost abrupt, manner. It made Rick wonder if maybe Cole was even angrier than he thought. He dropped his head briefly into his hands and sighed. Was it worth it? he asked himself. Nothing would be worth losing his best friend's trust.
Rick lifted his head to watch Cole's feet—his eyes staring in zombie-like fashion at the repetitious back-and-forth action of Cole's running shoes. I'm taking this too seriously, he finally decided, unaware that his thought processes weren't functioning at their normal level. Of course he's pacing. Rick looked around at his surroundings. In this mess, there's no room to do anything else. And, being Cole, he could never just sit still.
Cole turned in time to see Rick's head drop into his hands once more. Rick had rented that place! It just didn't make sense. He paused long enough to pick up one of the books on metaphysics. Or, maybe it does—
“When was the last time you ate?” Cole asked abruptly.
Rick was startled out of whatever reverie he'd fallen into. He turned vacant eyes on Cole. “Huh?”
“Let's go—”
“Where?”
“Not to play basketball—that's for sure,” Cole muttered. He grabbed Rick's arm, yanking him up roughly off the sofa.
Rick gave a token objection, but Cole ignored him. Rick had always been on the lean side, but it had been balanced by a firm set of muscles. Now, he was so lean he was bordering on bony. The thought of leukaemia, or some other wasting disease, crossed Cole's mind. “Have you been to a doctor?” he asked tersely.
“Doctor? I'm not sick,” he argued.
“That's not what your office said,” Cole countered. Rick's mouth snapped shut, and his gaze finally focused, becoming mutinous.
“That was an excuse—”
“Have you looked at yourself?” Cole glanced over at the mirror, and saw Rick's shirt slung across it. “I can see you have. Let's go,” he repeated.
“Where?” Rick said. He gestured at the stacks of books littering the floor. “I have work to do—”
“Like hell,” Cole said grimly, giving Rick a shove toward the door. “We're going to my place—my new place, that you were supposed to help me move into—”
Rick's eyes widened. “I forgot, Cole—” His expression was genuinely apologetic.
“I can see that,” Cole said calmly, and Rick was confused by the determined evenness of Cole's tone. Either he's planning to kill me, or I must look worse than I thought. When Cole put a hand in the middle of his back, propelling him toward the door, he decided it must be the latter. Cole muttered, “I should've known, when you didn't turn up, that something was wrong.”
This is ridiculous. “Nothing's wrong!” Rick argued, in one last, angry burst of adrenaline. He side-stepped Cole, then turned to face him. “Get your hands off me.” Rick's hands were clenched into fists. Some part of his brain told him he was being unreasonable, but the rest of his brain didn't want to listen. Cole had no right to come in here and interrupt his research. It was too important.
But, so is Cole's friendship, his brain argued back. Rick strove for a calmness that would match the determined look on Cole's face. The best he could do was a feeble, would-be explanation. “God damn it, Cole! I can't leave. I have things to do—” Anger bested him once more when he realised Cole was intent on ignoring his arguments. Rick gave Cole a shove. “Get out!”
Cole just stood there silently, watching him. Almost as if he were waiting. Waiting for what?
Rick didn't know what that last blast of anger had cost him. A vibrating column of black dots invaded his vision, and tried to fill it up. At first, still angry, he refused to yield. He staggered, and put out a hand to the wall for balance. Only it wasn't the wall that gripped him and held him up.
He shook his head, confused now. The vibrating dots had invaded his ears, and were buzzing there, filling his head with shifting blackness.
For just a moment, he held on—fighting for consciousness, and trying to control what was happening to him. He shook his head to clear it, and the gesture finished him. The last thing he remembered was the startling recognition that he was upside down, and then someone was lowering him into a car. The next sounds he heard were the roar of an engine and the squealing of tyres. It's got to be Cole, he thought. But, why's Cole driving in my lounge? “Cole?” he mumbled, confused.
Cole's voice sounded strained. “I'm here, Rick.”
Rick had a flash of memory. “Sorry, Co—” he started to say, as he was struggling to sit up. The blackness came back with a vengeance, almost like it'd been waiting for him. Rick didn't remember anything else.
* * * *
Sacchara decided to change the subject. The idea of an autopsy, or a dissection, didn't equate well with his memories of Caroline Denaro. “Dr. Solomon tried to give me his resignation again.”
Vizar gave a grim smile. “What did
he think this was—a house call?”
Sacchara chuckled. “Maybe he thought he could just write out a prescription.”
Vizar thought about that for a moment, then leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. “Wouldn't it be great, Justin, if that were true?”
Sacchara looked at him with surprise, then something akin to horror. “You're referring to a cure—I hope.”
Daniel looked at his expression and laughed aloud. “What did you think I meant?” he asked. A little more seriously he added, “Though, you have to admit, a few of our customers might prefer otherwise.”
* * * *
Cole went over and checked Rick for the tenth time. It seemed to be taking forever for Jason to get here.
Should I have taken him to the hospital? Cole wondered. He put a hand briefly on Rick's forehead. Maybe he had meningitis or something.
“Get your hand off my face—” Rick murmured. His eyes opened a slit. “What the hell happened?” He started to sit up.
Cole watched Rick's eyes begin to lose focus and he hurriedly shoved him back down against the cushions. “Wait—”
Rick laid an arm across his eyes. He felt like hell. Everything he owned ached—from the top of his head to the tips of his toenails. He hoped Cole couldn't see how much his hand was shaking.
Cole could, and he moved to the microwave. He pulled out the hot dog that he'd put in a few minutes before. It'll do for a start, he thought. He shoved the bread-wrapped dog into Rick's hand. “Eat,” he commanded.
Rick took several ravenous bites before Cole snatched the hot dog away.
“What'd you do that for?” Rick asked, still chewing. “Give it back—”
“Uh-uh. When you haven't eaten for a while, you have to take it slow—”
“You don't even take it slow after you've already eaten—” Rick argued. When Cole didn't respond, Rick sank back against the pillows and closed his eyes.
“Rick?” Cole asked in concern.
Rick opened one eye, and quickly snatched the hot dog out of Cole's hand. He shoved another bite into his mouth.
Light Play: Book One of The Light Play Trilogy Page 3
