Light Plays: Book Two of The Light Play Trilogy

by N. D. Hansen-Hill

  There'd be no escaping a confrontation this time. Rick leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, dreading what was coming. He muttered, “You're not human any more, but don't let it get to you.”

  “Bullshit,” the voice said, but Rick could hear the smile in it.

  There speaks the eternal optimist. “Hello, Jace,” he said.

  * * * *

  “Spare me the platitudes,” Rick told him. “You could've died, Jace—and I would have been the one to kill you.”

  “So go to hell, Rick. Don't you think I sometimes wonder if I'm doing the right thing when I prescribe medication? When I do a diagnosis?” He snorted. “You're just lucky you're working in a field where a life doesn't hinge on every little decision.”

  “That's why I'm here. Because there's a chance that it does,” Rick said seriously. “And what I did to you doesn't come under the guise of ‘medication’.”

  “Maybe I should give you a list of how many people I've sliced open to do surgery.”

  “Cole was right. He said what I did was ‘sick’. I think you're letting your relief at being alive get in the way.”

  “'Relief’? When I finally figured out what you'd done, Dr. Lockmann, I hated your guts. And I sure as hell didn't know how you could've done such a thing to me!”

  Rick was getting agitated, and it showed in his jerky movements. Jason remembered what Simon had said, and he wondered if he was going to regret this. But Rick would never believe he'd forgiven him, unless Jace confessed to the rest of it, too. “You're my best friend, Rick! I thought ‘betrayal’ was an old-fashioned word, but it's the only one that fits. That's how I felt—and the worst of it was that it was forever. There was no going back.”

  Jason turned his head, but he didn't move. There was still a chance he could latch on to Rick's arm, if the other man decided to bolt.

  “I mean—who did you think you were—God?” Jason asked him sarcastically. “Holier than thou and all that rot? Deciding whether to trot off and mutate some of your subjects today? You're just damn lucky the plant genes worked. If I'd died, you'd have gone over the edge.” He smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Duh! I forgot—you did go over the edge—”

  “Denaro was the one playing God.” Rick's eyes had darkened, and his voice sounded pained. “I asked you first. I didn't want to be like her.”

  “Jesus, Rick! What the woman did may not have been ethical—and we know damn well she was going for the record books—but there was some good in it. It doesn't excuse your trying to kill yourself.”

  Richard Lockmann was withdrawing. Jace could feel it, almost like a physical barrier had been erected. “I've got work to do now, Jace.”

  “Tough shit. I haven't come to the good part.” He paused, for emphasis. “After thinking about it, and yelling, and hating your guts, I realised you did the right thing. And I forgive you for doing it.”

  “Great,” Rick replied soberly. “That makes one of us.”

  “I'm glad you had the guts to do it. I don't know if I would have.”

  Rick's eyes showed a flicker of surprise.

  Jace will understand. The thought popped into his head, with something resembling relief. Rick had a sudden urgency to talk—to explain. “I don't know if I can take any more, Jace. It's not only you—it's Rickardson—and Geiller. If you were the first, I could take it. But—even Caroline Denaro.” He didn't know if he was making sense, but it didn't matter. He knew Jace would understand. Rick's voice cracked. “Remember her eyes, Jace?”

  Jace nodded.

  “I met her—talked to her.” Rick's voice broke on a sob. “Then I held her down so she could die. I knew they were going to kill her, but I did it anyway. And now I'm afraid I am her.” He sounded like he was choking. “It's that, and the mutant bit—all the people watching. I knew what it was like, but I did it to you anyway—”

  Jace draped an arm casually over Rick's shoulder. “Yeah,” he retorted. “Amateurs. The first time you have to make a medical decision, you go to pieces.”

  At first, Jace was concerned. At his words, Rick had become stiff—and silent. Then the rough sobs were replaced by a jerky rumble. Remembering the chest injury, Jace began to worry that Rick really was choking. “Rick?” he asked, a little anxiously.

  “Where'd you get your ‘bedside manner’, Jace?” Rick finally managed to get out. His chest hurt like hell from the abuse, but it didn't diminish the smile on his face. He was nearly incoherent with laughter.

  Jace smiled. “It's just something I picked up,” he replied. “Of course, I got some damned good advice from an expert.” He pulled an aspirin packet out of his pocket, and handed it to Rick. Then, he fished in Rick's own pack and pulled out a water bottle. “Take two, and call me in the morning,” he joked, as he tossed the bottle to Rick.

  Rick downed the aspirin. “Thanks.” He leaned back in the chair, the smile still on his face. “Let me guess,” he said, grinning. “My new psychologist goes by the name of Calloway.”

  “I toned his advice down a little, just to keep my reputation intact. He said something about boot in the butt, or thunk on the head. I think there was something about a CG, too.”

  “Cloud-to-ground. Strike one.” Rick smiled. “Consider me grounded.”

  Jason nodded, and his face grew serious. “Just remember, Rick—if you ever need to talk about it again—I'll understand.”

  Rick's eyes met his. “Exactly what I was thinking,” he said.

  * * * *

  Jason rubbed his hands in anticipation. “Where's all this lousy plant shit I have to infect?” he asked.

  “Get out, you rotten snob. I don't see Phil going all up-himself over having to work in the lab—and he's got more medical degrees than you do.”

  Jason picked up one of the plants and wriggled it. “My God, Phil!” he said in mock despair. “I think it's in a coma!”

  “I think it's dead,” Phil retorted. “You'd better give it CPR. No—make that MTR: mouth-to-root resuscitation.”

  “You two are worthless,” Rick muttered. “I'm trying to take my work seriously.”

  “Yeah, we know, Rick,” Jason said with mock sympathy. “It's just hard to ‘leaf’ this stuff alone. I just can't seem to ‘stem’ the flow. But don't worry—'Bud’—I'll get my shit together.”

  Phil Rutgers broke into loud guffaws.

  Rick laughed until he was bent double, one hand braced on the bench, and the other on his chest. By that time, the other two had stopped. Jace, frowning, stood beside him, one hand holding him up.

  “I wasn't trying to kill you, Rick,” Jason said.

  Rick wiped sweat off his forehead, and tears out of the corners of his eyes. “It just feels so damn good to laugh again,” he gasped. “Thanks for coming, Jace.”

  “Thanks for going, Jace,” Phil Rutgers told him warningly. He smiled. “Otherwise, we're going to have to call it a day right now, and we didn't even get started.”

  Jason nodded. “I'll go. Take good care of the wimp, Phil.”

  “Wimp, nothing,” Rick told him. “I'll see you later, you worthless buffoon.”

  Jace grinned, and went whistling out the door.

  * * * *

  “Can we go by my house? On the way to the lab?”

  “Sure, Rick.” Gabe Finlay sounded hesitant. “It's a little the worse for wear—”

  Rick looked at him curiously. “What have you guys been doing? Having a party?”

  Gabriel grinned. “I wish. It's your damned cat.”

  “Oh, that—”

  “Well, he's ripped the place to shreds.”

  “Probably lonely.”

  “And sprayed every fuckin’ corner—”

  “Claiming it, since I wasn't there. Maybe getting back at me, because I've been gone so long.”

  “Maybe he ought to have his nuts tied in a knot, and be strung from the clothes line by his tail,” Finlay muttered.

  “You a cat-hater, Finlay?” Rick smiled.

 
“Only certain cats,” he admitted. “Actually, only one cat—” Finlay glanced at him. “The only reason I put up with him is because he's yours.”

  “I would've thought that'd give you more reason to shoot him,” Rick said self-derisively.

  “This out-of-body shit's really bothering you, isn't it?” Gabe asked him. He pulled the car over and parked. Then he grinned. “Dumb question.” His face sobered. “When they first told me about it, I was going to quit if Hylton gave me your detail again. Then I realised Sterner was right: Denaro was a personality type you see pretty often when you work in the field. Smarter than most—hell, she was a genius if you believe Hylton—but it's no coincidence that we run into a lot of people like her. Some of ‘em even start out like her—trying to make a big name or set themselves up as saviours of mankind. Underneath it all is a streak of greed that twists ‘em, sooner or later. Then they realise it was the reason they actually did it all in the first place.” He slapped Rick on the shoulder, grinned, and started up the car again. “If it's greed driving you, I'd sure as hell like to see what it is you're after. Other than nannies for your damned cat.” He added, “Speaking of nannies, even Steven's taken a turn.”

  “What about—”

  “—everybody else?”

  Rick nodded.

  “Sterner pretty much has us all fooled. I think you could probably run around outside your body all day long, and we'd just ignore you. Besides, most of us are pretty used to you by now. Fungus, viruses—” He gave a mock shudder. “We're getting educated in spite of ourselves.” He grinned. “Unless you start flashing that ball lightning shit in our faces. Then we'll just shoot you again and get it over with. You know that thing about silver bullets and vampires?”

  Rick nodded.

  “You're a cheap ghoul. With you, the bullet doesn't even have to be silver.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  When they reached Rick's house, Gabe got out first. “Alesandro and Kitchener are on. I'm gonna tell ‘em we're here so they don't blow our heads off.” He nodded at the door. “Why don't you go inside and do whatever it is—”

  Rick smiled. “Just a change of clothes.”

  Gabe grinned. “Yeah. I noticed Calloway's been picking out your clothes.”

  “He thinks it'll help my image if I dress like a pimp. He says it goes with my tan.”

  Rick walked inside. The first thing he noticed was the cat smell. Pungent and acrid, it made his eyes water. “Jeez, Stench,” he muttered, frowning. “Can't you use a box?” Rick headed straight for the lounge. Some of his books were worth a lot—to him. He hoped Stench hadn't given them his personal autograph.

  The books were untouched. Rick looked around the room, then settled down on the couch. Damn if it didn't feel good to be home. I wonder if I can talk Denis into letting me stay? The arrangement with Steven was on a trial basis: days at the lab, and nights at the hospital. But, if Denis would vouch for him—

  Denis wouldn't. The last CT scan had been better, but it still wasn't great. I'm lucky he lets me out at all. Rick figured the only reason Denis and Phil had okayed his lab work was because he was working with Phil. Rick leaned back into the bum-fitting comfort of his couch, and relaxed.

  The next thing he knew Gabriel was shaking his arm. “I thought you were going to change your clothes, not take a nap.”

  He didn't say it, but Rick knew what he was thinking. Richard Lockmann—solar-powered Lockmann—didn't nap during the day—not while the sun was shining.

  “I was just resting my eyes,” Rick told him.

  “How's your cat?”

  Rick frowned. “I don't know. Maybe he's asleep in my room.” Rick stood up and stretched, in one fluid motion. He turned and headed toward his room, calling back over his shoulder, “He's probably been spoiled by all the—”

  Finlay had plopped down on a chair, and put his feet up on the table. “By all the what?” he asked, amused.

  Rick didn't answer. He was looking out the window, at a radio-driven toy car that was jouncing across his yard. “Will you look at that!” he said, grinning. Stench was on the car's tail. He zigzagged back and forth, biting and hissing at the tyres. Apparently, he'd managed to rip one, because on one side, the toy sported only a scratched rim.

  “Fastest cat I've ever seen,” Gabe said.

  “He's not so fast,” Rick replied, smiling.

  Gabe squinted at him. “Yeah, sure, Lockmann. To you, he may be moving in slow motion. To me, he's a midget cheetah.”

  The car went under the house. Rick could feel the floorboards tremble under his feet, to the sound of thumping, scuffling, and banging. Then there was silence. Rick bent over to listen, then looked worriedly at Finlay. “I hope he's okay,” he muttered. He called out, “Stench! Here, Cat! Come here, Stench!”

  “I don't hear him,” Rick grumbled. He went to the front door. There was a bump and a thud to his right, and Stench emerged from under the house, dragging his victim with him. He had the radio antenna ball clenched in his teeth, and was dragging the car along backwards, between his legs. Every once in a while, a signal would get through, and the tyres would give a brief whirr of motion. Stench would shake his head, rattling his victim until it stopped moving again.

  Rick moved out of the way as Stench dragged his prize into the lounge. Rick knew what was expected of him. He went over and plopped down on the couch. Stench brought the car and dumped it at his feet.

  “Oh, look!” Rick said in a calm voice. “What a good kitty!” He stroked the top of the cat's head. “He's trying to share it with me, Gabe,” he said.

  Finlay was standing in the doorway, unimpressed. He said loudly, “All I know, is some kid—and probably his husky father—is going to be pissed!”

  Alesandro tore into the house in time to hear the last. "It's not a kid!" he yelled to Finlay. He ran back out after Kitchener, who was giving chase.

  Rick looked up blankly. “What's the big deal—?” he started to say, but Finlay's yell overlapped his own. In the end, all he heard was the word "bomb!"

  Finlay was already in motion toward him, but in a fraction of a second, it was Rick who'd taken the lead and was dragging Finlay along. They raced across the lounge, and Finlay dove through the glass window. Rick turned at the last second. "Stench!" he yelled. The cat, sensing his panic, streaked toward him and lunged into his arms, catching him mid-dive, and knocking him off-balance.

  Suddenly there was a tremendous low thud and rumble, followed by a concussive blast of pressure that sent Rick—already in flight—sailing across his lawn. He had the confused impression of being jet-propelled amidst a sparkle of flying glass, flames, wood, and clouds of plaster dust. After he hit the ground, in a sort of rolling thud that seemed to go on forever, the yells and screams of his neighbours mingled with the scratches and yowls of squished cat. As the air cleared, he blinked, and saw a slightly scorched Stench go skittering away across the yard.

  “Jesus, that cat is fast—” he muttered, staring stupidly at his house. There was a pop, and flames flickered up along the walls. “Holy hell!”

  He shook his head to clear it, conscious of the ringing sound in his ears. “Gabe!” he yelled. “You okay?”

  Finlay was already squatting at his side, gun drawn. He was looking warily up and down the street. Rick jumped when he spoke. “Yeah. You?”

  Rick nodded.

  “Let's get you out of here.” Finlay helped him to his feet, and they headed toward the car.

  “What about the others?”

  Gabe didn't answer. He just gestured up the street. Harry Alesandro and Dan Kitchener were on their way back, and they weren't alone. They were dragging someone—Rick found out later it was Nyle Brentworth—along behind them.

  Rick could hear the fire engines in the distance. He rolled down the window halfway, and stared at the wreck of his house. He felt numb, like he couldn't quite decide what he should be feeling right now. “My books,” he muttered. “If it's any consolation, Gabe, Stench made it ou
t all right.”

  “Oh, joy,” Gabe replied sourly. “We'll send someone back for him.” He started the car.

  “If you don't mind,” Rick told him politely, “I think I'd like to go to work now.”

  Gabe looked at him, then nodded. Lockmann was still in shock. It'd be better if he was with Rutgers when it wore off. Finlay took one last look at the demolished building. What do you say to a guy who's lost everything?

  Gabe thought about it for a moment. Hell, he didn't have a clue. “I'll come back and find your cat,” he offered. “He can stay at my place.”

  “Thanks,” Rick said.

  * * * *

  When they got to the lab, Jamaal and Johnson met them at the car. “He's pretty shaken up,” Gabe told Johnson in a whisper. “He just doesn't know it.” He glanced at Rick. “Does Rutgers know?”

  “Yeah. Hylton wanted him back at the hospital for a check-up, but Phil said he'd watch him. If things get bad we'll send for a helicopter.” Johnson looked Finlay up and down. “What about you?”

  “I got out before the blast. Lockmann went with it.”

  “Since when did you get faster than Lockmann?”

  “Since he decided to wait for his cat.” Gabe grinned. “The two of them flew about twenty feet. He landed in a roll. Otherwise, he wouldn't be here.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To finish the rescue Rick started.”

  “The cat?”

  Finlay gave a mock shudder. “Unfortunately, yes.”

  Finlay opened the door. “Rick? Phil's waiting for you in the lab.”

  “Hi, Rick,” Johnson said. “You okay?”

  Rick forced a smile. “Just fine, thanks,” he said politely. He came out of his distraction slightly when Finlay climbed back into the car. “Thanks, Gabe.”

  * * * *

  Phil Rutgers looked at him carefully, noticing the scratches and cuts, and the blind look in Rick's eyes. Shellshock. “Sure you want to do this?” he asked.

  Rick nodded. “Sure. Why not?”

  Phil patted him on the back, and pulled him into the anteroom, where they could get changed. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Why the hell not?”