Light Plays: Book Two of The Light Play Trilogy

by N. D. Hansen-Hill

  Cole looked thoughtful, then suddenly smiled. “The point is, Rick, as usual, doesn't know what's good for him.”

  “What's good for him,” Jace muttered, “might be coming out in the open with all this.” The other two looked at him with surprise. “Sounds weird, coming from me, right?” It was the first time Jason had openly referred to his mutation. “Oh, I know I'm lucky, because nobody knows about me.”

  “Thanks,” Simon said.

  “Nobody important.” Jason grinned.

  “Even better.” Simon's smile faded. “If everyone knew about Rick, they'd all want a piece of the action. Literally.”

  “Gross,” Cole said, “but true. What do you want Rick to do? Ask for ‘expressions of interest’? I don't think he'd be big on the relic or good luck charm industries, either.” He leaned back in the chair. “I just wish he didn't have to fight so hard just to stay alive. That's what's really getting to him, you know.”

  “It's more than that. It's the fact that he's disabled, and nobody can see past it. Everybody sees what he is before who he is,” Jace told them seriously.

  “That's a crock of shit.”

  Jason looked annoyed. “I've had a lot of time to think about this. Suppose someone works at a computer—” he looked pointedly at Cole, “—and he loses a foot—”

  “Best wishes to you, too.”

  “—it doesn't affect his work, but suddenly everyone at his office thinks of his missing foot first, instead of the fully functional human being who's left.”

  Cole snorted. “That's because the guy would still have problems getting around.”

  “What about when someone says he has cancer?”

  “I get it,” Cole said glumly. “People want to run because they're afraid they'll get it.”

  “Or they're afraid to get too close, or—if someone's lost a limb—they don't want the discomfort of the other person's pain. That's why I think all those eyes focused his way are getting to him.”

  “So now you want more eyes focused on him?” Simon wasn't sure he was following Jason's logic.

  “I just think that if everyone knew, and it was no longer such a big deal, then Rick could be himself.”

  * * * *

  Sheryl was curled up in the bed, half asleep. “I'm cold,” she complained. She instantly felt contrite. “Sorry. I'm a lousy patient.”

  In the next moment, a warm body had crawled in behind her, and was nuzzling against her back.

  “So warm,” she murmured. “You know, when They came, I wished you were at my back. I just didn't know it'd feel this good.”

  “Does this hurt?” He wrapped one arm around her, to try to warm her up.

  “No,” she lied. She gritted her teeth. “Just don't jiggle it like that—” She knew he was grinning even though she couldn't see him. “I'm a feminist, you know.”

  He kissed her ear. “I know. That's why you read historical romances.”

  There was a shocked silence, then she said angrily, “You people are so damned nosy. Do you have to pry into everything?!”

  “Now, who's a bigot?” he asked mildly.

  “Isn't there anything about a person's private life that's sacred?! I don't have to explain myself to you!”

  “Just because you're in my bed?”

  “Fuck you!”

  “I think I'll save myself, until you're feeling better.” He buried his face briefly in her hair, and inhaled deeply. Then he told her, “I asked George Jackleby what you read so I could get some books for you. For your convalescence.”

  “You bothered that poor sick man to ask my taste in books?”

  Steven slid his hand under her nightie. “I didn't bother him like I want to bother you.”

  “I look ugly. I'm all bruised and lumpy.”

  Steven felt around some more. “Your lumps feel all right to me,” he told her.

  Unable to think of an appropriate response, Sheryl yawned. “I'm going to sleep now,” she told him.

  He watched over her for a while, reluctant to leave. There were half a dozen phone calls he should make, but he was too comfortable to move. She settled it by nestling closer to him in her sleep.

  His arm crept around her once more, and he dozed off. There'd been too many nightmares—real and otherwise—for too many weeks.

  For the first time since he'd encountered Caroline Denaro, Steven Hylton slept like the dead.

  Chapter Sixteen

  When Simon had left, Cole grabbed Jason's arm. “I need to talk to you.”

  He hesitated, and Jason suddenly realised Cole was trying to be sensitive to his feelings. It was such a shock that Jace had to fight to suppress a smile.

  “Jace—when Rick did this to you, didn't you resent it?”

  “Sure. I hated him for it.”

  “So why are you trying to help him now?”

  Jace tried to explain. “I wanted to talk to someone about it, but then I realised the one I always unload on is Rick.”

  Cole smiled. “He's good at that. I've unloaded dumpster-loads of shit on him.”

  Jace smirked at Cole's deliberate reference to a dumpster. “Of course I hated what he'd done, and I kept thinking about all this foreign stuff running around in my body. But, then I remembered breast implants.”

  Cole looked at him strangely. Then he stared pointedly at Jason's chest, and grinned. “Just checking.”

  Jace continued. “A lot of those aren't even organic. Plus, people use metallic dyes in their hair, contact lenses made of plastic, caps on their teeth. Hell, I've put pins in peoples’ hips, and I've seen a procedure where they put a steel plate in a man's skull.” He met Cole's eyes. “Every day you take vitamins—those are foreign, inorganic—”

  “Not the kind I take.”

  “We doctors slice people open and remove their body parts. We transplant lungs and move blood from one person to another, and use lasers to burn holes through skin. We shoot bodies with X-rays, and put needles into people to top up their fluid levels.”

  “Medicine is a truly grotesque profession.” Cole looked sick.

  “Anyway, we glorify what we do. There's a lot of positive feedback for gene therapy now, to correct hereditary conditions, genetic diseases, things like that.” He smiled. “After I had time to think things over, I guess I decided that Rick didn't really do anything so very different. And it's a helluva lot better being alive—when you consider the alternative.”

  “I thought you changed your mind because Simon threatened to kill you.”

  Jace looked a little surprised that Simon had mentioned it to Cole. But then he pictured it: Simon announcing his threat in that cool voice of his, just to see how Cole would react. Yes, it must have been an irresistible temptation, even for one of Simon's ilk. Jace grinned. “Well, yeah,” he said slowly. “There's always that.”

  * * * *

  “How's Rick?” Sheryl asked him as soon as he walked in the door.

  Steven let his consternation show in his face. “That's all I hear all day long. Richard Lockmann is fully recovered from his little escapade—”

  Sheryl bristled at once. “His ‘little escapade’ saved my life.”

  “Maybe. Your life wouldn't have needed saving if you hadn't met the bastard in the first place.”

  “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “Just be glad his ‘trip’ isn't likely to be repeated. Rutgers had the IVs tested when Lockmann's system crashed. Several were laced with a hallucinogen.” He pushed Lockmann and his problems to the back of his mind. “You look better,” he said, smiling. “How do you feel? Or should I check?”

  Sheryl ignored him. “Why would anyone do that to him? Don't they know they could get him killed?” She shook her head. “It doesn't make sense. To deliberately provoke an astral episode.” She shuddered, then cringed. “It's a good thing we're the only ones who know about this,” she said, remembering the video. “It'd be enough to turn his best friends against him.”

  But, Steven was looking stunne
d, and not a little horrified. “What did you say? About the ‘astral episode’?”

  “If something about his genetic make-up was prone to that kind of thing, the right stimulation might set it off. Like an epileptic seizure.”

  “What kind of stimulation?”

  “I don't know. I'm no expert on it,” she said grouchily. “It might be something simple, like a bright light—”

  “Something like a book? About out-of-body experiences?”

  “That book he got? The letter? I don't know. Maybe. A chemical inducement would be a lot more tricky, given his metabolism.”

  “Phillip Rutgers.”

  She looked impatient. “Is this some kind of secret communication, or can anyone participate? What about Phil?”

  “He worked for Raeiti.”

  “Lovely. Who's he?”

  “I told him about Rick.”

  “How could you! Denaro nearly killed him!” She stood up and limped into the bedroom.

  “That's why I told him. If Phil can tolerate Rick after this, then your mutant'll probably survive if anyone else finds out.” He heard her scuffling around in the bedroom. “What are you doing?”

  “Gathering my things. Everything's a game with you. Half-truths. Lies. Playing us off one against the other.” She looked at him coolly. “Not my style.”

  His face hardened. “Have Masli give you a ride back.”

  “I'll take a cab.” Memories of the warmth of his arms made her add, “If you need me for anything, I'll be at the hospital. Watching a certain mutant's back.”

  “I'll know exactly where you are,” he informed her curtly. “Remember, that's my job.”

  * * * *

  There was a quiet knock on her office door, but he didn't wait for her to answer. When she looked up, Simon Kerrington was in the room.

  She sighed. “Now, what?” she asked impatiently. Her newfound patience with Rick didn't extend to his friends.

  Simon's mouth twitched, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he picked up a chair and brought it over next to the couch where she was lying.

  “This is too much!” she said angrily. “If Steven thinks he's going to have people in my private rooms—”

  “We need to talk,” he interrupted quietly.

  “I don't think so, Kerrington,” she said. “Now, get out!”

  He just sat there, unperturbed, his expression serious.

  Her temper cooled. “I know I'm going to regret this—but what are we talking about?”

  “Rick.”

  “Is he okay?” The quick question, the obvious concern. Simon looked at her curiously. Even her turnaround, from Lockmann-hater to Lockmann-sympathiser, didn't account for this reaction. Could Jace have been wrong? She'd gone home with Steven Hylton, but she'd returned alone. Could Rick be the reason?

  “Did you know he tried to kill himself?”

  Shocked, she shook her head. Another thing Steven had kept from her.

  “When?” she murmured.

  “The day you got hurt. After that they kept him sedated, so he couldn't damage himself.”

  “That's why he was back on an IV,” she muttered. “I wondered about that,” she explained to Simon.

  There was something missing here. “How did you know he was back on an IV? You weren't even here.”

  “I can't talk about it,” she said, thinking about the reaction this man might have if he found out. She would dearly love to wipe that cool expression off his face, but this wasn't the way. It wouldn't be fair to him or Rick.

  “You're going to have to,” Simon told her. “Either that, or explain to me why Hylton's issued a ‘kill-on-sight’ if anyone spots Rick off the hospital grounds.”

  * * * *

  She studied his face for a moment while she made her decision. It wasn't going to do Rick any favours if she cost him their friendship. But, she had a feeling he wasn't going to leave unless she levelled with him.

  Well, Simon Kerrington, you're tenacious—that's for sure. Let's see whether that extends to your friendships.

  She spoke in a monotone. “They were waiting for me when I got out of my car,” she said. “I pretended I didn't realise it, and went upstairs. He caught me just as I went through the door.” She shuddered, and Simon pulled the blanket up closer around her shoulders. She flashed him a quick, surprised look, and Simon smiled at her.

  She went on. “I beat on him, and so did my neighbour.”

  “Allen Browning?”

  She nodded. “Allen gave me a chance to get away. I made it all the way through the door, but he—he kicked it open. I fell backwards and hit my head on the coffee table. I couldn't move—” Her eyes were filled with tears.

  Simon didn't say anything. He regretted pushing her, but this must have some bearing on Hylton's order, and she knew why. Otherwise, she would have said as much.

  “He was going to kill me. I could see it in his face. He was smiling about it—” A tear leaked out and trickled down her cheek. Simon reached out and gripped her hand. She clung to it. “Thanks,” she whispered. He just nodded.

  “But when he came for me, he couldn't do it—because something got in the way.” She hesitated. “It started out like a shadow, but when the man moved forward it got bright—” Her eyes shifted to Simon's face, to watch his reaction. “Like ball lightning.”

  Simon's eyes dilated, and he sat there, stunned.

  “It hit the man, and—and threw him out of the room. All the way down the stairs.” She waited for Simon to say something, but he didn't. She continued. “Then, it came back, and helped me—” She smiled. “I don't know how, but it kind of lifted me to Allen's side, so I could help him. Then it waited with me—like a guard—until Steven came.”

  “It—it was Rick?” Simon stumbled over the words.

  “Yes,” she nodded. “I recognised his smile.”

  * * * *

  “Keep your head between your knees, Mr. Kerrington,” the voice ordered. As his world stopped spinning, Simon was able to pick up the trace of humour in the tone. “Feeling better?” she asked.

  “Damn rotten,” he told her bluntly. All traces of his coolness were gone. Sheryl knew she was looking at the real Simon Kerrington—the one Rick and his friends knew.

  “It wasn't his fault.”

  “Apparently, other than playing around with genes, the out-of-body part wasn't Denaro's fault, either.”

  “Someone's been setting him up.”

  Simon frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I had some of it from Steven. There was some book, and a letter—”

  “—and the leafhoppers.” She looked at him curiously. “Trust me,” he said. “They came with a silver cord, like the letter, and a lock of Denaro's hair.”

  “How gruesome,” she said. “But that's not all. The night this happened, someone laced Rick's IV with a hallucinogen that almost killed him. Did you hear about that?”

  Simon shook his head. “Steven's been keeping a lot to himself.”

  “I think that's what triggered the episode. Rick almost didn't make it back.” She saw there were still traces of aversion in Simon's face. “Rick isn't Caroline Denaro, Simon,” she said kindly. “What happened is closer to an epileptic seizure than an astral episode.”

  “But—as I understand it—doesn't one ‘outing’ make it easier the next time?”

  “I don't know. I can't believe you're all so concerned about this and don't bother to consult someone who knows something about it.”

  “Rick knows about it. He researched it after he encountered Denaro the first time.”

  “I'm not talking about Rick,” she told him impatiently. “He's too close, and he's probably terrified that it'll happen again. The last thing in the world he'd want is to talk about it.” She sighed. “That's probably why he's suicidal.”

  “That's not the reason,” Simon said, but he didn't enlighten her. He had a feeling she'd be just as horrified by Jason's mutation as he was by Rick's out-of-body experience. Wha
t really bothered him was the combination of the two. Was Rick really becoming a “Denaro"? Running around mutating people? Attacking people? Simon could understand why Hylton had issued his orders. Simon just couldn't agree with them. He'd known Richard Lockmann too long to condone any attempt at assassination.

  “Stop it.”

  Simon met her eyes. “Stop what?”

  “Stop siding with Steven. He's wrong, and you know it.”

  “I don't agree with him. I just understand his decision better.”

  “You don't understand anything. Neither you nor Steven. You said this little episode wasn't the reason Rick's suicidal.”

  “It's not. For one thing, the timing's off.”

  Sheryl sucked in a quick breath. “Then he probably doesn't know.”

  It was Simon's turn to look impatient. “Know what?”

  “Has anyone told him I got hurt?”

  Simon shrugged. “Not to put you down, Doctor, but he probably hasn't asked.” He added, with a trace of sarcasm, “He probably doesn't need to.”

  “You idiot!” she said. “He probably doesn't even remember. He was drugged. To him, it must have been more like a dream. If he finds out I got hurt, though—”

  “—he'll know it was real,” Simon interrupted. “I don't get your point.”

  “You're the one who said he's suicidal,” she said sarcastically.

  “What can I do?” he asked, and Sheryl knew it was his old friendship with Rick talking now.

  “Find yourselves an expert on this—on astral projection, out-of-body experiences. Thousands of people do it, some on an everyday basis. Talk to them, and make sure Steven does, too. You can start with Eric Sterner.”

  Simon looked shocked. “Sterner?” he asked.

  Sheryl nodded. “Yeah. We talked about it a little, the night you all encountered Denaro. I think he was just upset. It was more of a generalised discussion on OBEs, as he called them, than anything specific.” She smiled. “I don't think he wanted to reveal too much.”

  Simon stood to go. “Thanks, Sheryl. I'm sorry about all this.” He put the chair back where it belonged, then asked her, a little hesitantly, “Are you and Steven—?”

  “Maybe. I'll have to confront the damn fool about his orders. He and I have a few philosophical differences to work out.”