Light Plays: Book Two of The Light Play Trilogy

by N. D. Hansen-Hill

  * * * *

  He didn't get very far before he heard running footsteps behind him. Rick fell into step with him, and they jogged companionably for a few minutes. “What's up?” Rick asked him. “Where're you going?”

  “Just out for a jog. I got tired so I decided to head home,” Cole puffed out.

  Rick grabbed his arm and pulled him to a halt. “Spill it, Cole.”

  Cole was silent for a moment, which alarmed Rick. Cole was never silent. Rick had opened his mouth to demand an explanation, when Cole blurted, “Dammit! I don't know what I was thinking about! This is you—not some stranger I need to psyche out or anything.”

  Rick lifted the dark glasses that covered his crystalline eyes. “Stranger is right. I've never met anyone stranger than you—” He grinned, but there was still a trace of confusion in his eyes. “What's wrong, Cole?”

  “You shouldn't even be thinking about it, Rick!” Cole suddenly realised how much time and effort the rest of them had invested in Richard Lockmann's well-being over the last five weeks, and his temper rose. “You damned ingrate! I've got better things to do with my day than worry about—”

  Rick sobered. “Than worry about what?” he asked quietly.

  Rick's concern tamped Cole's anger like cold water on a hot grill. “—you running off,” he finished lamely.

  “Is that why you didn't come by?” Rick asked. In some circuitous way—knowing Cole as he did—it made sense.

  Cole nodded, and booted a large tree root to vent his anger.

  Rick hid his smile. “Who said I was going to run?”

  “Simon. I told him how aggro you looked yesterday, and he said we were probably driving you crazy—away—out of here.”

  Rick plopped down on the grass verge, and lay back, with his hands behind his head. He lay there contentedly, enjoying the sun on his face and arms. “Truth, Cole?” he asked.

  Cole nodded. “I need to know if I'm wasting my time. Trying to keep you alive and all that,” he said, a trace of anger in his voice.

  “Sometimes I feel like I'm choking,” Rick admitted. “As much as I enjoy using a microscope, I can't stand living under one—if you know what I mean.” He added, “And that's not what I want from my friends.”

  “Yeah,” Cole said, a little bitterly.

  “Hey, Cole—I'm not suicidal. I know better, after this past month, than to try to take off for the hills.” It was his turn to sound bitter. “At least, not until I learn how to control my metabolism a little better.” Cole glanced at him quickly. “No, Cole—if I'm going to take off—and you can tell Mr. Big-Mouth Simon this—my friends'll know it. At least, I'll tell you where I'm going. Maybe even invite the more decent of you along.” He smiled.

  Cole grinned. “But we're still driving you crazy.”

  “If you could just lay off the phone calls, and we could do some stuff instead—” he hinted.

  Cole didn't hear anything after “lay off the phone calls". He was too busy remembering how many times he'd punched the speed-dial for Rick on his phone. Now, he looked a little sheepish, and made a big point of looking at his watch. “I gotta go, Rick.” He forced a smile. “See ya.”

  He'd jogged for a few minutes more when he heard steps behind him again.

  “So that's it, huh? No ‘let's go watch the game’, or ‘I have an idea’?”

  Cole shook his head. “Nope. I'm just out for my health.”

  “Too bad,” Rick said. “See ya.” He turned around and started walking back toward his house. His keen eyes picked up all the activity his sudden disappearance had caused. He gave a casual wave to his keepers.

  There was something in Rick's tone that made Cole pause. A note he'd never heard before. Something almost like depression. It suddenly occurred to him how few of Rick's moods he'd seen over the past month—how Rick had tried to hide all behind an almost frantic cheerfulness. How he'd tried to keep anyone from knowing how he was really feeling.

  Cole suddenly realised how easily he and the others had accepted it. Because it was easier to believe that Rick was satisfied with the way things had turned out, than to admit that he might be scared, or depressed, or hopeless. Cole wondered if this was what Simon had really been trying to tell him—that Rick needed more than what they were giving him. That maybe they were pushing him in the wrong direction. That what he really needed was for everyone to stop thinking so much about the changes in him, and more about the person he still was.

  Cole saw Rick issue an almost weary wave to the men milling around his house. It told him a lot about Rick's state of mind—if there was one thing Rick could never be in the sunlight now, it was weary. “Hey—don't you think that should go more like this?” Cole asked, lifting his finger to the distant watchers, while offering them an obnoxious smile.

  Rick grinned, and this time, Cole knew it was genuine. “Show some respect, Calloway. What made you come back?”

  “You.” He frowned. “Seriously, Rick—I thought you might need some time to yourself.”

  Rick's smile widened. “So did I. Until I saw you jogging away from my house. Then I realised how dull my Saturday was going to be.”

  Cole's eyes brightened, and he gave Rick a friendly shove. “Did you watch the weather?” he asked.

  “Oh, no,” Rick groaned. He shielded his eyes and looked for thunderheads in the distance.

  “Oh, yes,” Cole grinned. “Wait'll we tell that maniac Jace.”

  “Simon's gotta come.”

  “Hey, I'll tell him you called him a ‘big-mouth’. That'll do it.”

  “I said I wanted him to come, not kill me.”

  “No problem. All I have to do is whisper the word ‘lightning’ in Simon's ear, and he'll be there like a shot.”

  “No kidding. He's nearly as bad as Jace.”

  “I have a basketball in my car,” Cole said casually, changing the subject.

  “I didn't think you ever took it out,” Rick replied sarcastically, but he was grinning widely. “I suppose you want me to rub your face in the dirt again—”

  “Shit, no. I came prepared.” Cole boasted. “Energy drinks. Two of those things and you'd need a day standing naked in the sun to keep up with me—”

  “Don't take me wrong, but isn't that health-food stuff?” “Health food” and “Cole” had always been opposites.

  “Hey, you're not the only one who can change his body image. I eat almost all healthy shit now. I just eat lots of it.”

  “Carob bars?” Rick asked.

  “Truckloads.” He rummaged in his pocket. “Want one?” Then he remembered who he was talking to, and quickly yanked it back.

  But Rick was already shaking his head. “Too sweet. What else have you got?” He had a sudden longing to taste solid food again.

  “There must be something you can eat.” Cole thought about it for a minute. In his mind, one of the worst things about Rick's condition was his inability to enjoy food. “We'll check in the Rumbler. I've got all kinds of shit lying around in there.”

  “That sounds appetising,” Rick said sarcastically.

  They'd turned around and were jogging back toward Cole's car. Cole glanced over his shoulder, and saw the commotion building down the block. “What about all those guys?” he asked. He hadn't realised Rick had any custodians until Simon had told him, and now he was a little shocked at the crowd milling around on Rick's driveway.

  “They'll catch up,” Rick said casually. “Maybe.” He smiled, and began to jog a little faster.

  Cole kept pace. “If they do, we'll make ‘em play for their money. Almost enough of them for a team. How do you stand it?” he asked Rick curiously.

  “I don't know. Most of the time I sit down, I guess.”

  “I'm serious—”

  “Well, I'm not. Shut up and jog, Fatso.”

  “I'm not fat.”

  “That's not what Sterner said. I called him the other day—”

  “You must've been desperate—”

  “—the ‘fat
’ was referring to your head, anyway,” Rick reassured him.

  Cole, panting now, muttered, “My health food energy is running out. You're just trying to wear me down so you can beat me,” he complained. “Hey—if I win, I'll buy you a three-course breakfast,” he said hopefully.

  Rick slowed down. “Let me guess: water, water, and water.”

  “Hell, no. We'll order up the works, and then I'll eat anything you can't.” He snickered.

  A car raced past them and Rick gave it an irreverent salute.

  “DSO?” Cole asked.

  “Yeah.” Rick grinned, then suddenly started laughing out loud. “I was just thinking,” he said. “Wait till my ‘guards’ see where we're taking ‘em tonight.”

  * * * *

  Jessamyn Lomax looked at the video tape again. The computer had picked up a lag time in surveillance, and she was trying to figure out what it meant. She'd run the programme twice, but both times, the result had been the same: for seventeen-point-five minutes, the cameras in Freezer Unit Y-4 had been non-operational.

  Could it have been the cold? They'd had a similar problem last year, in K block, and this was the way it had started—temporary black-outs, getting longer and longer, until the camera had given up completely. But that camera had been mounted directly in one of the walk-in freezers. She checked the records again—no, the cameras in Y were outside the freezer units.

  Maybe the camera's too close to one of the freezers, she thought. She checked the log to see when the freezer was last opened. Not for two weeks. She made a note to have maintenance check for a coolant leak. And for Security to check for any signs of an intruder.

  With a sigh, Lomax shook her head and typed in the recommendations on the file.

  * * * *

  “What's that smell?” Simon wrinkled his nose in distaste. “No, don't tell me—it's your cat.”

  “Yeah. For better or worse, good ol’ Stench has decided he likes my place. Now, he just goes around and stakes his claim.”

  “Don't flatter yourself,” Cole grumbled. “He did the same when he stayed at my house. I won't even tell you what he did in my car. Let's just say the Rumbler ain't the same on hot days any more.”

  Stench took that moment to come in and rub against Simon's leg. Simon discreetly tried to boot the cat away. Stench retaliated by digging his claws into Simon's calf, then trying to bite off the top of his foot.

  “He thinks you're attacking him, Simon,” Rick tried to explain.

  “He thinks right—” Simon grumbled. “I just wish I had my gun.”

  “Lock him in the bedroom before Jace gets here,” Cole warned.

  Rick looked slightly taken aback.

  “You think I'm kidding?” Cole asked. “Jace hates him.” He grinned. “He spent the night on my couch that time we got shot. When he woke up, Stench was getting pretty personal with his family jewels. When Jace objected, Stench meted out the same kind of treatment he just gave Simon's leg.”

  “Oww-w.” Simon grimaced at the thought.

  “Yeah. Jace didn't know if he'd ever be the same again.”

  “When Jace comes in, get him a knife. He can return the favour, and nip off the little bastard's balls. That'll teach him.” Simon forcibly detached the cat's claws from his pants leg.

  “Stench. Here, Stench,” Stench detached himself from Simon's skin, sat on his haunches and looked vaguely at Rick, then jumped into his lap. Rick stroked his silky back. “These two jokers just have no appreciation or taste,” Rick remarked, scritching the cat's back.

  “Taste. Do you know anyone who eats cat?” Simon asked Cole.

  Cole shook his head. “Not one that smells like that. Why is he so skinny, anyway? Don't you worm him?”

  “He's fussy about his food. He doesn't like my cooking. He's a—”

  “You cook for the cat?” Cole asked incredulously.

  “Like I was saying, he's secretly a hunter.”

  “I bet he makes a lovely souffle out of mouse guts and lizard skins,” Cole remarked. He looked with distaste at the feline, who was now stretched lazily across Rick's lap. He was purring erratically, and drool dripped from one side of his mouth. “How grotesque,” he muttered. “Remember how I said you two look alike? Well, I was wrong. You drool out of both sides.”

  Chapter Two

  “Did you tell them where we're going?”

  The anticipation in Simon's smile made Rick grin. “I thought we'd let it be a surprise,” he said.

  “You should've told them, so they could bring their cameras, too,” Jace said.

  Simon shook his head. “Reality check. This is not a normal thing to do, Dr. Stratton. If they knew what we had planned, they'd probably call in the troops to stop us.”

  “Or, me, anyway,” Rick added. “The rest of you can fry.”

  The “normal” aspect was still bothering Jace. “Of course, this is normal,” he insisted. “It's just like any other sport.”

  “Sure, Jace,” Simon said, grinning. “It's just that the playing field is really small.”

  “Car racing's a sport,” Rick argued.

  “That's true,” Cole agreed. He jammed on the accelerator, then grinned, as he heard the Rumbler's throaty response.

  “Why'd you have to mention car racing?” Jace complained.

  Simon gripped the seat back with white knuckles. “If this is your idea of a work-out, you'd better stick to those stretches you do in the back seat,” he said sarcastically.

  “Shut up, you guys. I'm trying to work out my strategy.” They tore around a curve, and nearly side slid off the road.

  “Try working out how to drive, instead,” Simon told him.

  “Everyone's a whinger,” Cole said loudly. “I'm offering the guys in back a challenge.”

  “You're offering my friends in back a load of gravel on their windshield,” Simon told him.

  “They're spies,” Cole reminded him, a little disparagingly. “Don't they have super-strength wipers or bullet-proof glass?”

  “They left those at home with their neoprene pants, masks, and capes,” Simon replied.

  * * * *

  The Rumbler sat at the top of the hill. There'd been a few arguments over that one—but the final consensus was that some trees and a nearby tower would take any lightning strikes that came their way. In fact, as Cole put it, encourage some lightning strikes to come their way. The storm was building up to a frenzy. Wind-whipped rain pounded the car, but the darkness was cut by flashes of lightning in the distance.

  Simon peered through the rear window, at Geraldo's car. He could just imagine what Finlay and Geraldo were thinking about this whole thing. Other than telling them they were going out to do some special photography, no one had forewarned them. They'd had no idea what Simon and the others were taking photographs of. I bet they can guess now, Simon thought, grinning.

  “Just keep your feet off the transmission and there's no way you can get electrocuted, Simon,” Jace said, then waited to see how Cole would react.

  “Does he have his stinking feet on her tranny again? Get ‘em back there, where they belong!” He punctuated it with his fist.

  “Oww-w!”

  Cole thought about it, then added, “And keep ‘em off the upholstery.”

  “I knew we should have brought my car,” Simon said loudly.

  “Despite her drawbacks, the Rumbler has better windows,” Jace said. He grinned when Cole turned on him.

  “'Drawbacks?’” he repeated, frowning.

  “You misheard him,” Rick said. “He really said, ‘seat backs’.”

  “You're an asshole, Jace,” Cole told him. “First, he runs around breaking my crowbar, then he loses my keys—what was I thinking of, letting you use her? It's a wonder she goes at all—” He rubbed the dashboard. “It's all right, Girl. Just ignore him.”

  “If that's how he treats his women I'm surprised he gets to first base,” Simon told Jace.

  “He just likes to think he does,” Jace replied. “He
barely gets out of the dugout and he claims he's scored.”

  “Did you get that last shot?” Rick asked excitedly. “Can you guys see the sprites, or is it just me?”

  “Missed,” Jace admitted. “How the hell can you see sprites?” he asked, a little enviously.

  “Over there—wow! That CG was enormous.”

  “Cole, did you get it!?” Jace asked. “That one was great!”

  “Hey, I'm saving myself for ball lightning.”

  “You would,” Simon said sarcastically. “But—since you've got my camera—I'd like some of the CC ones—”

  “I'm letting you use my video camera—”

  “But it's digital! I don't want to fake these—I want real ones.”

  “I don't fake my shots—I just highlight them where they need it—” Cole argued.

  “Shut up and shoot! Or give me back my camera—”

  “'Shut up and shoot’. Sounds about right coming from a Spy-man—”

  “Hell's Bell's!” Jason yelled, as the rumble of thunder shook the ground. "Yee-hah!"

  “That's it! I'm taking my camera back!” Simon grabbed it out of Cole's hands.

  “Hey—give the digital to me!” Rick said excitedly. “That way, I can edit it so you can see it the way I do—”

  “Shut up!” Jason yelled. “I want to hear the thunder!” They were still bickering, so Jason said, “That's it! I'm going out!”

  “Shit, Jace!” Rick said anxiously. “That last one was close—” He could see the excited look in Jason's eyes. Cole was right: for all his caution during the day, Jace was a maniac when it came to a thunderstorm.

  “You know what they say—you're more likely to get eaten by a shark than hit by lightning—”

  Before they could stop him, Jason had exited the car and was standing out in the rain, face turned toward the roiling clouds. Almost like it had been a signal, the light rain became a drenching downpour. The heavy droplets drummed on the roof, and the windows started fogging up.

  “Shut up, Cole! Your hot air's wrecking my view.”

  “What's that smell?”

  “More of Cole's hot air. He's been eating too much of that health food—”