Light Play: Book One of The Light Play Trilogy

by N. D. Hansen-Hill

  Raeiti took a silent step backwards; then another and another. When he'd put some distance between himself and the phantom, he crouched, turned, and ran.

  * * * *

  “What's that?” Simon heard something in the near-distance. Whatever it was lay just beyond the reach of his light.

  The blood had nearly finished draining into Denaro's arm.

  “What now?” Simon asked Jace. His eyes were still trained on the area where he'd heard the sound. So was his gun.

  “I don't know.”

  The admission took Simon by surprise. His eyes flicked to Jason's and back again. “O-kay,” he said slowly. “What exactly don't you know, Jace? How long we have to wait, or what to expect?”

  “Where's Cole?”

  “Turning on the lights.”

  “How's he going to do that?”

  Simon looked at him and grinned. “I don't know.”

  * * * *

  She questioned why she hadn't killed him. It would have been so simple: a touch, a rip, a rearrangement of bodily parts. Nothing she hadn't done before.

  The answer was not a happy one, for it brought with it its own form of pain.

  Remorse. Something Caroline had thought she'd never feel again—now that her conscience had plummeted with her gods. Something she thought she wouldn't need to worry about, now that hell was not an option.

  Still, it was there, and she wondered if she was being made to face some kind of ultimate test. If the God she had once known was using her like the rats she'd once used in her lab. “Take away destiny, and remove the top and bottom standards for her existence, and see what she becomes.” If hers was a test case, she decided she'd already failed.

  Yes, it was remorse. And curiosity. Caroline watched as they fed her body on Richard Lockmann's juices. She was reminded of a fat spider, who sucks its victims’ bodies dry to nourish itself. I'm the spider, she thought, unhappy with the comparison. Spiders had always seemed among the cruellest of the predators to her.

  I'm the spider. And they're all caught in my web.

  * * * *

  Cole waited patiently while Rodrigal mixed up wires, and had trouble making simple connections. But when the man started pecking away at the keys, with frequent use of the backspace button, Cole couldn't stand it any more. “Cut me out of this,” he told Rodrigal. “At this rate, it'll be the day-after-tomorrow before we get the lights back on.”

  Rodrigal hesitated.

  “I need both my hands—”

  The other man nodded. He unwrapped the bandages Jason had used for support, and re-bound them—this time around the injury. “That's gonna be convenient,” Cole remarked sourly. His lower arm looked like a giant drumstick.

  “Better than shorting out the keyboard with blood.”

  Cole looked slightly embarrassed. “My mother always told me, ‘Never a moaner nor a whinger be’. I've been both. Thanks for your help.” He turned back to the computer. “Now that we're past all the sloppy stuff,” he said, “let's see how well I can break their secret code.”

  * * * *

  “How is he?”

  Jason shrugged. “Unchanged. How about you?”

  “Eager to call it a night.”

  Jace shone the light briefly in his direction. “Why don't you sit over there by the wall? At least, then, you could lean against it.”

  Simon shifted slightly, but shook his head. “Nice idea, but I don't think I can afford to get too comfortable. Might take the edge off my concentration.”

  Jace had been thinking things over. “This doesn't make any sense,” he said. “There's no reason for you and Rick to be here. I can watch over her myself.”

  “Yeah, Jace.”

  Jason deliberately ignored the sarcasm in Simon's voice. He grabbed Rick's arms and started dragging him away from Denaro. “Rutgers can keep an eye on Rick.”

  “And me. Is that it?”

  Jason sighed, then nodded. “Yes, Simon,” he admitted. “That's it.” He pointed to Denaro's nearly lifeless body. “You've been sitting next to her for nearly fifteen minutes, and you aren't even conscious of how dangerously close you are.” Jason offered Simon a hand, and helped him to his feet. “If that's your concentration with an ‘edge’ to it, I'd hate to see you when you're out of it.”

  “You let me sit there for fifteen minutes? Where's your physicianly concern?” Simon did a good imitation of Cole.

  “In a dumpster at the hospital.”

  “I'll let that one pass. Though I guess that would be some explanation for the way you smell—and look.” Simon staggered over and sat down against the wall, just like Jace had suggested. “All that manoeuvring just to get me right where you wanted me in the first place.”

  Jason grinned. “Was I that obvious?”

  “Subtle as hell. Did you really end up in a dumpster?”

  “Off the roof, down the chute, and into the can.”

  “Jesus!” Simon said. “You're still alive, so I guess you're okay.”

  “Oh, yeah. I emerged from the broccoli slime right in front of my boss. Then I dropped Cole's keys and had to dive back in.”

  Simon was grinning. “I wish I could've seen it,” he said.

  “When this is over, the only things you're going to see are the four walls of your hospital room,” Jason vowed. “I'm going to tie you three to your beds, pack my bags, and leave on vacation. I don't want to see any of you for at least a month.”

  Simon grew serious. “No kidding. I just hope you can look at us again without having an overlay of our internal organs to colour your view.”

  “I have to admit I'm finding all this kind of a strain, Simon.”

  Simon grinned. “Believe me, I understand. The action I'm into usually doesn't include you guys, either. I don't like this any better than you do.” He leaned back and chuckled. “Especially with Cole. A little taste of action, and I may well have a madman on my hands.”

  * * * *

  Cole struggled to make his right hand follow his commands. It was slow-going, but still better than watching Rodrigal hunt and peck. “I'm in!” he finally exclaimed, triumphantly.

  “To ‘Help’?” Denis asked him.

  Cole looked affronted. “No—to the network. Give me five more minutes, and you won't have to worry any more about being in the dark.”

  * * * *

  “Who's there?” Phillip Rutgers sounded as panicked as he felt. They'd left him a flashlight, and Eric had given him his gun. The circle of light made him feel like a sitting duck, and he didn't even know whether he had the safety off the gun.

  He tried turning off the light, to put him on a more even footing with people like Raeiti and Shaine. At least they wouldn't be able to see him from a distance. Two minutes without the light was about all he could tolerate, however. The memory of Denaro's attack in the dark was still too fresh. Every where he looked, he had visions of her lurking there, waiting.

  He was hoping she'd exhausted her energy supply. From what Vizar had told him, in the past she'd only been able to act in short bursts. Vizar had assumed she'd then return to her body for rejuvenation; to restore her depleted energies. It was from there—the isolation chamber where they'd kept her body—that she'd appeared with the greatest frequency. That might have been some psychological response to maintain proximity to her corporeal form, but Vizar hadn't thought so. His video records, of Denaro interacting with her former doctor, had always shown her strongest after her emergence.

  Or so Daniel Vizar claimed. Phillip Rutgers was well aware of the man's position and propensity for half-truths. He just didn't see why it would benefit Genetechnic to tell him a half-truth in this instance. There was too much that still needed to be discovered about the basics in this case.

  Unless Denaro had learned how to take substance out of the air, it was unlikely she'd have much force, at least for a while. He thought about Jason and Simon, and the transfusion they were trying to give her body. He hoped they didn't get caught in the middle of her
comings and goings.

  But she must draw some substance from molecules in the environment, he reasoned. The video clips he'd seen had been clear: she'd somehow gone from near-non-existence, to near-solidity. And Vizar had said this tether approach—he rubbed the numb spot in his back—was relatively new. That meant she wasn't merely sucking form from her body. She carried some with her, and manufactured, or somehow procured, the rest. He wondered whether they'd ever really know. In Genetechnic's case, he sincerely hoped not. It wasn't anything he'd like to see them use on someone else.

  The noise came again, and Phillip flicked off the light. It was closer now, and he recognised the thud of feet on stairs. Probably Sterner and Finlay with the lights. His pounding heart slowed, and he heaved a sigh of relief. Definitely fully human, he decided. Being alone here was no picnic. He wouldn't tell any of the others this, but about now, he'd even have welcomed Raeiti if it meant he wouldn't be alone.

  * * * *

  Leon Jeller walked into the room where Derek Ainsley had set up a command post. “Has anyone told you about the flashlights upstairs?”

  “What about it?”

  “There are flashlights moving around on at least five levels. Some of it's back on the roof.”

  “Where's the closest action?”

  “Two levels up. On four.”

  Vizar had admitted he was having problems. Maybe he'd discovered he didn't have things under control after all.

  Ainsley glanced at his watch. They'd been waiting here for nearly an hour, and it had been at least forty minutes since he'd spoken to Vizar, but the only change had been the loss of power to the rest of the building, including the exterior lamps.

  There was another matter that had come up, as well. Several helicopters had made low-level passes over the complex, without offering any explanation. Things were heating up.

  “Mr. Vizar led me to believe he'd be down here by now,” Derek Ainsley told the others. “We have action two levels up. I'm sending a team in to investigate. Volunteers?”

  There weren't any. To a man—and woman—they'd all seen the distorted body in the hall.

  Ainsley shrugged. “All right,” he said. “Jeller, Brentworth, and Colby—you're with me.” He turned and stepped over the threshold, into the dark beyond.

  * * * *

  “Get down, Jace,” Simon said quietly. “Against the wall. Turn off the light.”

  Jason was tempted to argue, but something in Simon's tone told him it would be foolish. Simon was the expert here.

  “Stay where you are!” Simon called out. “Identify yourselves.”

  “Geraldo, David P., DSO. Accompanied by Sterner something-or-other, and Rutgers, Phillip. Satisfied?”

  “Hit the light, Jace,” Simon said, a smile in his voice. “Damn right I'm satisfied.” As Geraldo came into the light, Simon added, “I was picturing you as a corpse. You look a lot better like this.”

  “Wish I could say the same for you. Why aren't you geared up?”

  “Because it clashed with my mummy look. Why do you think?” Simon had put on a mask, and had a glove over his exposed hand, but his suit was tied around his waist. He couldn't get it on over the load of bandaging.

  “We brought the lights,” Sterner said. He also had Phillip Rutgers leaning heavily on his other arm.

  Jace grabbed Rutgers’ arm and took his weight. Then he hauled him over next to Rick.

  “What happened to Lockmann?” Rutgers asked. “He's not looking too good.”

  “Denaro ripped into him.”

  Rutgers leaned over and palpated the man's abdomen, feeling the rigidity there. “He's bleeding.”

  Jason sighed. “I know.”

  “Let's get the lights set up,” Phillip urged. “As fast as possible.” He turned to Jace. “If your friend Calloway can get the power back on, Lockmann might just stand a chance.”

  * * * *

  “Do you hear something?” Denis Rodrigal asked Cole loudly.

  “Not now. I've almost got it,” Cole told him.

  “But, I'm sure I—”

  “Bingo!” Cole exclaimed. He clicked the mouse one more time. “We're there!” he yelled.

  Only one bulb had been left on in the lab: in the air hood, for emergency purposes. After that prolonged period with only the soft glow of the computer screen, the single bulb seemed abnormally bright.

  “We did it!” Rodrigal shouted.

  Cole, however, had gone silent. The single bulb was bright, all right—certainly bright enough to show him clearly the four men standing there with guns in their hands.

  Rodrigal was still blissfully unaware of their presence. He stared at the light bulb with an expression of near-rapture on his face. The flashlight Cole had carried down had faded away almost to nothing, leaving them in the near-dark again, and he couldn't recall ever having been so afraid in his life. With the return of the power, his world now suddenly seemed a whole lot brighter. “We did it!” he repeated again.

  His bubble was about to burst. “Perhaps you'd care to enlighten us,” a voice behind him said, “as to exactly what it is you ‘did’?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Hands in the air,” the man ordered. “Get that leg of lamb up there, too.”

  “I told you it looked bad,” Cole complained.

  Nyle Brentworth was young, eager, and suspicious. “What do you have in there?” he asked, and prodded the bandage with his gun.

  “Don't do that,” Denis Rodrigal told him.

  “Take it off.”

  “No,” Cole said. He sat back in the chair, and folded his arms across his chest. Or tried to, anyway. The leg of lamb wouldn't co-operate.

  “He has a weapon in there,” Brentworth told Ainsley when he and Jeller came back in the room. Ainsley signalled to Colby to deal with it.

  “That's the most ridiculous—” Cole said, then stopped when Colby grabbed his arm and extended it. “Ow-w—”

  “You'll—” Rodrigal started to say. Brentworth shoved a gun in his face.

  “Cut it off.”

  At first, Cole thought they meant his arm. He started to fight. Colby clipped him hard on the side of the head with his gun.

  From there on out, it was all kind of foggy to Cole. He stared as Colby deftly cut off the bandages, then watched the man jump back as a spurt of blood caught him right in the face. Cole giggled. “Gotcha!” he said, and tried to stand up. His legs crumpled and he keeled over on to the floor.

  * * * *

  “We need an extension cord,” Phillip Rutgers said.

  “Why don't we just move him in there?” Finlay asked.

  “Because we also need to get the lights on her,” Rutgers replied. “Unless you feel comfortable moving her?”

  “Not a chance.”

  “No lights on Denaro,” Steven Hylton said.

  “Before you say any more, I think I need to explain something. Stratton has given Denaro a transfusion—of Lockmann's blood. Lockmann's plan was to help her recover, so that the two parts of her would be locked back in place.” Hylton was silent. Rutgers went on, “I think you owe it to him to at least give it a chance.” He reminded Hylton in a whisper, “After she recovers, she's yours. To do with as you see fit.”

  “Not quite,” Simon said, patting the gun on his lap. “There have to be some limitations on that ‘to do with’.”

  “Are you threatening me, Kerrington?” Hylton asked him.

  “No, Sir,” Simon said with that cool smile. “Wouldn't consider it. Merely a friendly warning.”

  * * * *

  “That's all he'll say,” Brentworth repeated. “'They're upstairs’.”

  He nudged Rodrigal with his foot. “How many of them?”

  “Anywhere from twenty to forty.”

  “Closer to five or six,” Cole muttered. “She killed the rest.”

  “Glad you're back with us, Mr. Calloway.”

  Cole looked accusingly at Rodrigal. “Whatever happened to going incognito?” He turned to Ai
nsley. “He was lying. My real name's ‘Smith’.”

  “Who killed the rest?” Ainsley asked.

  “Denaro. Who'd you think?”

  Derek Ainsley's eyes met Jeller's. “What do you know about Denaro?” he asked Cole.

  “Five-foot-six. Built like a turtle, only lumpier. Helluva long tongue. Likes to slobber virus.”

  Brentworth booted him viciously in the ribs. “Enough with the jokes.”

  Ainsley grabbed Brentworth's shoulder and yanked him away from the prisoners. “That'll be all, Brentworth. Report back to Command.”

  Rodrigal had shrugged off Colby's restraining hand, and was kneeling next to Cole. “This man needs a hospital,” he said.

  “He'll get one when we find out what's happening upstairs. What do you know about Denaro?”

  “She was one of Genetechnic's scientists,” Rodrigal said, uncertain of their affiliation. “She mutated a plant virus, and accidentally infected herself with it. It's had some rather—unfortunate—side effects.”

  Ainsley sank into a chair. “What kind of side effects?” he asked.

  “I understand they're a lot like Mr. Calloway suggested: swelling, tumours, excessive salivation, respiratory trauma. Unfortunately, she's been acting as a virus vector.”

  “Don't forget her better half,” Cole remarked. “The part that really gets to you—really ‘tears you up’, if you know what I mean.”

  “No, Mr. Calloway,” Derek Ainsley said. “What do you mean?”

  “He means that Denaro has a twin.”

  “What?”

  Rodrigal couldn't think of another way to put it. “A genetic twin. With psychopathic tendencies.”

  “Let's be honest, Denis,” Cole said dryly. “'Naughty Boy’ is to Jack-the-Ripper what ‘Psychopath’ is to Caroline Denaro.”

  Ainsley had heard enough. “Call an ambulance, and escort these two men to the hospital. Then get me a team for upstairs. Make sure they're armed.”

  “It's no good. She goes right through suits,” Cole warned him.