Rick considered his words for a minute, then nodded, surprised that he hadn't thought of it himself. He'd been too involved in trying to solve the puzzle of what had gone wrong with Denaro's research. “You're right, Cole,” he admitted, a little hoarsely. “I guess I wasn't thinking straight.” He tossed the address book to Cole. “Help me find a place to hide this stuff.”
“No kidding. One dead scientist—” Cole saw Rick's expression and amended his comment, “Okay—one dying scientist, and a whole lot of wrong answers. Genetechnic must be shitting bricks about now. I wonder if they even know she kept a spare notebook.”
“They know. They just don't know where.”
“I don't even want to ask how you figured that one out. Just reassure me—you were damned sneaky in taking this stuff out of wherever you took it from, weren't you?”
“Incredibly sneaky. Like a shadow, only heavier.” Rick smiled.
“Judging from the bruise on your face, you were a damned clumsy shadow, too. Did you leave any clues other than dents and blood?”
“Gum.” Cole looked at him strangely. Rick grinned. “Don't ask.” He stepped over to his abbreviated kitchen, his voice becoming serious. “There's something else you have to see.”
Cole looked at the curdled milk mixed with bean dip. “I hope that's not the remains of your lunch.”
Rick lifted the box out of the cupboard as though it were something precious. It gave him goosebumps to remember how roughly he'd carried it out to the car.
“Nice box,” Cole said, curious. “What's in it?” When Rick lifted the lid, Cole gasped. Four glass vials, full of clear liquid, nestled into the soft foam. "Fucking hell!" he swore, backing away. “Get rid of it!”
Rick carefully closed the lid and replaced the box in the back of the cupboard. “The third one from the left—marked SA22? If I'm right about the virus, that was the one that wiped out Caroline Denaro,” he said.
* * * *
Sy Morgan ran. He never even questioned his response—it was more of an instinct than a conscious decision. Caroline Denaro was the hunter—and he was the prey.
It didn't matter that he knew she couldn't do much to him physically. God knows, he'd seen her do some pretty amazing things in this state, but she'd used up her energy in trying to retrieve that file. At least, that's what he told himself. There wouldn't be enough left of her to actually attack him. For now.
But she knew other ways to get to him. He'd been right about one thing: she had little better to do than deal with the constant frustration of being almost completely intangible. It was like non-existence, with a twist of damnation thrown in. And, right now, Caroline Denaro wasn't willing to welter damnation alone. If she needed to suffer, then she'd bloody well take some of the other responsible parties around here with her.
The door seemed to stick on its hinges, but Sy knew it was just anxiety that was binding the catch. By the time he was in the corridor, his legs were pumping nearly as fast as his heart. He turned a corner and leaned back against the wall.
She was there. In part. Remnants, like pieces of cast-off fabric. Sy lost his lunch.
He backed away, then started to run on wobbly legs. At some junctions she'd be there, waiting for him, and he'd run the other way. It took him a few minutes to realise she was herding him.
To what?
Biohazard signs started to appear along the corridors, and Sy knew where he was. In the restricted zone; the one he was paid to watch so carefully, just in case someone like himself should wander in here. The place where the hideous hulk of Caroline Denaro's body lay so silently in its isolated chamber. The location that no one in his right mind would visit, if even one-tenth of the rumours were true.
Only Sy knew it was a helluva lot more than a tenth—or even a third. The rumours gave you something to be scared of, but let's face it—the reality was far more scary than any rumour could make it. And right now Sy Morgan was scared nearly shitless.
* * * *
“I'm not letting you take any of this back to your house,” Rick repeated hoarsely. It was hard to sound insistent when your voice came out in a croak.
Cole fidgeted angrily. The thought of remaining here any longer, with Denaro's virus stuff in the cupboard, was really getting on his nerves. He didn't particularly want any of her notes at his place, but if Rick insisted on reading Denaro's files, he'd be a damn sight better off at Cole's than here by himself. “I'm not leaving you here, Rick. That's final.”
Rick started to argue. “I still have so much to do—”
“So, two dying scientists are better than one?” Cole knew from the expression on Rick's face that he was being harsh, but Rick had to recognise just how sick he was.
Maybe he does. The stray thought appeared from somewhere, tailing with it Rick's words from the night before. "Did something to me—the pneumonia ... not getting better. Have to stop it." At the time, Cole had put it down to nightmare ramblings; now he wasn't so sure. Could any of Denaro's research be pertinent to Rick's illness? Cole suppressed a shudder. “Take your reading with you,” he said. “We'll use my computer.”
“Not a good idea,” Rick told him, suddenly worried that Sacchara might somehow follow a trail he didn't know he'd left.
Cole began to let his exasperation show. “Then tuck it away and let's go.” He looked at his watch. “You have a doctor's appointment ten minutes ago.”
Rick frowned. “I didn't make one.”
“Jason did. In conjunction with Peasdale.” He pulled a crumpled note from his pocket. “You're seeing Dr. Blaisden.”
“But—”
“One of your lab tests came back weird. That's all they'd tell me.” Cole took the CD out of Rick's hand and stuffed it down inside the couch, along with the address book.
“What about the—?”
Cole glanced over at the cupboard and grimaced. “Leave it. There's no way I'm going to touch it.”
“There's no way I'd let you,” Rick said seriously. “I was asking about my cat.”
Cole looked from Rick's bruised face, to the skinny, beat-up Tom stretched across his lap. “Did you ever hear that saying, about people looking like their pets?” He put the note in Rick's hand. “Jason seemed to think this was pretty important, Rick. Can you ring Blaisden's office and tell him you're still coming?” Cole grinned. “I have a window latch to repair.”
“Lock my doors, and the riff-raff come through the window,” Rick croaked out. Cole grinned and left the room.
When Cole came back, Rick was sitting quietly on the couch, obviously deep in thought, Denaro's address book in his hands once more. His expression was unreadable, but something about it made Cole uncomfortable. “What'd they say? Are we going or not?”
“I'm going,” Rick croaked. “I'll take my car.” Rick tucked the notebook away and dumped the cat into Cole's arms. “You get Stench.”
“Dr. Dung and his cat, Stench.” Cole grinned, then tucked the squirming cat under one arm, to get it as far away from his nose as possible. “Will you be okay to get home afterwards? My home, I mean—not this virus-laden hovel.”
“No problem.” When they were outside, Rick added in a whisper, “Thanks for everything, Cole.”
Cole started to answer in a whisper, too, then realised what he was doing, and looked embarrassed. “Don't worry—I'll hold it against you. Remember what my mom always used to say: ‘stupid is as stupid does’. She was referring to me, but I like it better on you.”
Rick forced a smile. Then, becoming serious, he said worriedly, “Cole—if anything happens to me, just let Denaro's stuff go. Don't even think of touching those vials.”
Cole stuck his hand on Rick's forehead. Rick pushed it away. “Just like I thought,” Cole said. “You're hot again.” He added, “I can always tell—you begin to get all gloom and doom.”
“'Gloom and doom’ my ass. I'm serious about this. You don't know how to protect yourself,” Rick rasped.
At that Cole snickered. “Maybe I shoul
d protect myself the way you do. Then we could both be on Genetechnic's hit list.” He nudged Rick toward the car. “Get in my car and shut up—while you still have a voice,” Cole said. He flung open the door and threw the cat inside. “I'm driving.”
Rick was still intent on driving himself. As he turned away, annoyed, Cole added pleasantly, “I can always make you—”
Rick knew he meant it. Angrily, he turned back and plopped down in the passenger seat. At the first corner they side slid, spraying gravel across the other lane. Rick tightened his grip on the dashboard, and Stench tightened his claws into Rick's leg. “Remind me to ask Denaro how she does it,” Rick croaked, as he tried to unhook the cat out of his skin. “If I'm going to be driven to an early grave, I'd rather be out of my body at the moment of impact.”
* * * *
Jason was in the waiting room when they got to the doctor's office. He glanced irritably at his watch, and then at Cole. “You took long enough,” he complained. Jason'd had a long day, and the news Cynthia Peasdale had given him wasn't good. There hadn't been much of it, either. She'd been openly resentful that he was interfering in Rick's case. Whether or not she would have transferred Rick to a specialist like Blaisden was another matter, but Jason's insistence on it had rankled.
“I had to find the damn fool,” Cole said.
Rick knew Cole was only joking, but it was suddenly damnably clear to him how much trouble he was causing. Jace looked harassed, and Cole looked just plain tired. “I'm sorry,” he rasped out. “I didn't mean to cause so much trouble.”
Jason heard the hoarseness, and looked disturbed at this latest symptom. “Sit down, Rick,” Jason urged. He went over to the receptionist's counter and tapped the glass partition. When the woman slid back the glass he said, “Richard Lockmann's here.”
“I can see it now,” Rick was saying when Jason came back. His eyes were glassy, and Jason realised he was starting to ramble.
“Shut up and save your voice, Rick,” Cole told him. “You can tell us about it later.”
Rick didn't seem to hear him. “Denaro tried to replay evolution,” he whispered. “It's endosymbiosis of sorts. She even mentioned something like that, in her notes.”
Cole looked appalled. He shot a look at Jason. “He shouldn't be talking about this here,” he told Jason emphatically.
Jason shrugged. “There's not much I can do about it.” He squatted down and touched Rick on the shoulder, in an attempt to get his attention. “Rick,” he started to say.
At the contact, Rick shuddered and his eyes closed. When they opened again, they were still glazed, but more in focus. “Jace?” he asked.
“Yeah, Rick. It's me.”
“Don't let Cole get near it, Jace,” he said. “Keep him away. He doesn't know—” Rick's eyes rolled up in his head and he slumped into Jason's arms.
Jason stretched him out on the floor. It took him only a few seconds to realise this was no mere faint. “He's not breathing!” he said tersely.
Cole was stunned. Jace gave him a push. “Tell her to get Blaisden in here!”
Jace tried giving Rick mouth-to-mouth, but quickly realised no air was getting in. By then, Blaisden had appeared. Summing up the situation, he did an emergency tracheotomy.
When the first whine of air whistled into Rick's lungs, Jason flopped into a chair and buried his face in his hands. As Rick was placed on a stretcher, to be taken by ambulance over to the hospital, Jason suddenly remembered Cole.
Cole, still stunned, was sitting in a chair on the other side of the room. Jason took one look at his white face, then sat down next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Put your head down between your knees and take a couple of deep breaths,” he ordered.
In a few minutes, some of the colour had come back into Cole's face. He looked at Jason. Jace was a couple of shades paler than usual, too. “I thought doctors weren't supposed to be affected by all this,” he commented.
Jace rubbed his face with his hands. “We're not. Do you think Blaisden noticed?”
“Probably not. That chalky shade sort of blends into his wallpaper.”
“Thanks.”
“Let's go,” Cole said. “Where will they put him?” He knew better than to ask if Rick would be okay. Neither he nor Jace really wanted to talk about it right now.
“Intensive care. Level three.”
“Right,” Cole said evenly. “I'll drive.” With a trace of a smile he added, “With any luck, we may even beat the ambulance there.”
Jace gave him a brotherly slap on the back and followed him out the door.
Chapter Six
Caroline Denaro hesitated when she caught sight of the gruesomely distorted figure on the bed. Her vision, unlimited by the narrowness of peripheral angles, could see vast areas at once, and her view included both the spectre of her useless body, and the ghastly terror in Sy Morgan's face.
Caroline hovered at her own bedside, forcing herself to admit what she had become. It was her own folly, but she hadn't done it alone. Vizar still hoped to profit from her research, and Sacchara was still running scared. Either one would now be happy to terminate her in self-defence, or out of what they termed “necessity". She had gone so far from what she'd once been, that they were no longer controlled by guilt, and even her doctor had trouble perceiving her as a human being. Soon, when they'd found that all the testing wasn't getting them any closer to a solution, they'd have no use for her body. It was the anchor that grounded her on this plane, but to Daniel Vizar it was the tie that bound her round his neck. He no longer had any compunctions about letting her go.
Caroline was momentarily daunted by the old guilt and horror; those feelings of repulsion about how she was perceived by Sy Morgan and others like him. Looking down at her dysfunctional remains, however, quickly dispelled the guilt. She had been like this for nearly a month, and no one—except for Rick Lockmann—had attempted to help her. It made her wonder whether she could really detach herself from the monster on the bed, or if she cared any longer, about whether she was intact or not. She knew Sy Morgan had seen her and ignored her plight. He'd let her suffer—even laughed at the thing she'd become, and the way others reacted to it. Now Caroline wanted to see how much he'd laugh if he were the one stuck on that bed. She would have preferred Daniel Vizar, but he seemed impervious to her attempts to pressure him.
Sy Morgan, however, was far from impervious. He was, quite frankly, terrified, and Caro derived a perverse pleasure in making him squirm.
There was something else motivating her. It grew stronger each time she re-entered her body. The last time she'd emerged it had been almost overpowering. For want of a better word, she'd described it to herself as sharing: she had this nearly overwhelming urge to share the products of her mutation with others. To release some pent-up form of energy that had been building within her body, and spilling over into the minor tangibility of her spirit. Sy, with his quick response to her herding attempt, was the perfect victim. It was time to force him into the room.
* * * *
The first thing that registered in Rick's awareness was a regular beeping sound, that reminded him of one of those second-rate hospital dramas. As his own level of consciousness grew, so did the pace of the monitor, so that by the time he opened his eyes, he had no doubts about where he was.
Or maybe he did. This wasn't like the hospital room he'd been in before. This one made him feel exposed, as though all eyes were on him. At least two pairs of those eyes belonged to Jace and Simon.
“Hey, Rick!” Simon said, his tone far from his normally cool sarcasm. Simon reached out and took his hand. “How're you doing?”
Maybe Cole was right, Rick thought, stunned by the looks on his friends’ faces. Maybe, like Denaro, I'm dying. His heart began to beat faster.
Jace, noticing the increased tempo of the monitor, nudged Simon in the ribs. “Either all that affection is making itself felt, or you're scaring the hell out of him.”
Rick put his own emphasis on
Jason's words by curling the hand Simon was holding into a shaking version of the Finger. Simon moved so Jason could see. He chuckled in relief. “Is that fuck me, or fuck off, Rick?” Simon asked. Rick balled his hand into a fist.
Rick's eyes sought Jason's, and at first Jace thought Rick was trying to thank him for saving his life. “It wasn't me, Rick—it was Blaisden,” he admitted.
Rick shook his head, and there was an urgency in his expression that brought a frown to Jason's brow. “What is it, Rick?” he asked. He knew that patients in Rick's condition sometimes became fixed on an idea. Something unspoken; something left undone. The knowledge saddened him, but he tried to hide it. It only showed how close Rick was to death.
“Paper,” Rick mouthed.
“He wants paper, Jace,” Simon said. “I have a pen right here, Rick,” he offered. He placed the pen in Rick's hand, and curled his fingers around it.
Jason watched as Rick tried to pen the words. Where's your objectivity? he asked himself. It sure as hell wasn't in the moisture that was welling up in his eyes.
When Rick was finished, Jace reached out and took the paper, while Simon stuck the pen on the bedside table. “It's here if you need it, Rick,” Simon offered quietly.
Jason stared at the paper and frowned. He knew Rick's eyes were on him, but he couldn't help it. He'd expected to see some request, even some question about his illness—anything but the short, confusing string of letters on the paper. He sighed. The last thing he wanted to do was blow this—to botch up Rick's last request or something. He cleared his throat. “WTV?” he asked.
Rick gave a slight nod. There was relief in his eyes.
Jason hated to disappoint him, but he felt he needed to ask. “What is it?”
Rick gestured for the pen again and Simon quickly stuck it into his hand. Jason held the paper while Rick painstakingly wrote, Denaro. Ask Cole. His hand was shaking so much that he could barely add the last word. ME.
“Okay, Rick,” Jason assured him. “I'll ask Cole. He'll be here soon.”
Light Play: Book One of The Light Play Trilogy Page 10
