Light Play: Book One of The Light Play Trilogy

by N. D. Hansen-Hill

  “Who?”

  “What?”

  “Who was she?”

  “Dr. Caroline Denaro. A geneticist. She worked for Genetechnic until a month ago. One of their top researchers, in fact.” Rick leaned forward. “There's no record of her death, Cole.” Rick started to cough.

  Cole thought about it. “That doesn't mean she didn't die, Rick. Maybe she wants to haunt that place because somebody murdered her—and she wants them brought to justice.” Cole was warming to his theory.

  “Why is it easier for you to believe in a ghost, than in an out-of-body experience?” Rick hacked out.

  Cole threw another blanket over him. “All I'm saying, is that it's a better bet she's dead than alive. I'd be a little careful about taking the word of a ghost—”

  Rick was trying not to cough, and Cole had to strain to hear his words. “It wasn't her words that convinced me, Cole.” Rick rubbed his chest, much as he had that afternoon in the house. “It was her touch.”

  * * * *

  Cole had been awake most of the night, thinking about what Rick had said. When he finally did get to sleep, it wasn't for long, and when he woke up, he was mad, and ready for a confrontation.

  “Wake up, Rick.” He nudged him. Rick grunted and turned over, so he was facing the back of the sofa. Cole poked him. “Dammit—wake up, Rick. I've gotta go to work. And Jason's going to be here any minute.”

  Rick opened one eye. “Didn't anyone ever tell you that sick people need sleep?”

  “Didn't anyone ever tell you it's stupid to get in over your head?”

  “What's bugging you now?” Rick sat up.

  “You.” Cole stomped around, but Rick didn't have to strain to hear him. He'd started to yell. “First of all, tell me one thing—this isn't one of those weird things, like that guy who fell for a statue, is it? Because, from what I saw, that lady was old enough to be your mother.”

  It took Rick almost a minute to figure that one out. Finally, he got it: either Cole was referring to Pygmalion, or, more likely, he was talking about the movie where the guy fell in love with one of his display mannequins. Rick started to laugh. “Not a chance.”

  “Then, what the hell is this? If this lady was tinkering around with genes, then she deserves what she got. It's not like she's some dying kid in Africa, for crissake!”

  “And I shouldn't get involved, right?” Rick added evenly.

  “Right! The reality of it is: people today don't get involved.”

  “Then, why am I here, on your couch? Why'd you bother?”

  “Because we're friends, and I've known you forever. Besides, if you're stupid enough to get yourself into this kind of shape, then it'll make me better than you for at least the next ten years.” Cole grinned. His smile faded as he added earnestly, “You don't even know this person, Rick. And don't give me any Crusader shit about damsels in distress. You're the one who always talks to me about how women have to stand on their own.”

  “You're right.”

  Cole looked like he didn't quite believe him. “Which part?”

  “All of it.”

  Cole looked relieved. “Good. Because I've got to get to work.” He reached up in the cupboard and pulled down the rejected cheese crackers from two days before. Tossing them to Rick, he said, “Food. Eat. There aren't any books on plants or fungus on my shelves, so don't even bother looking. The TV remote's at your feet. Jason'll be here soon.” He'd been about to say “to drive you back to the hospital", but he changed his mind. Let Jason do the talking on that one. He finished with, “He'll let himself in, so you don't have to get up.” Cole hesitated. “Just don't go out, okay?”

  “Wouldn't think of it.”

  Cole took a long look at him, noticing the way Rick still wouldn't meet his eyes. Rick had taken his little speech on non-involvement seriously, all right. He was going to do whatever he felt he needed to—only he wasn't going to involve Cole, or any of the others, if he could help it.

  * * * *

  Rick didn't even remember falling back to sleep. The next thing he knew, Jason was turning him over, much as he had two days before, to put a stethoscope against his chest.

  “Hi, Jason,” Rick said grouchily.

  “Shut up. I'm trying to listen.” Jason grinned.

  “How am—” Rick started to ask, but Jason stuck a thermometer in his mouth.

  “Can you sit up?”

  “Of course I can sit up,” Rick spat out around the thermometer. Jason put the stethoscope against his back. Rick jumped. “That's cold!” he grumbled.

  “It only feels cold because you're so hot,” Jason said reasonably.

  When Jason had finished a cursory examination, Rick asked him, “Where's your bedside manner? Aren't you going to do that doctor thing—you know—give me a kindly smile and ask me how I feel?”

  Jason was putting away the thermometer. “Nope. Because I can damn well guess how you feel. What are you going to do about it?”

  Rick reached over to the table and picked up the bottle of pills Peasdale had prescribed. “Let's be reasonable, Jace. All they'd do in the hospital is give me pills and make me rest. I can do that at home.” He saw the expression on Jason's face, and went on, “Or here, since Cole's so insistent.”

  Jason picked up the bottle and studied it for a moment. “How long have you been on these?”

  “Since yesterday. She had me on something else before.”

  Something that didn't work. “Do you know whether Peasdale got back your test results?” Rick shook his head. Jason sighed. “I think you should go back to the hospital,” he said bluntly. “I don't like the way your chest sounds.”

  Jason looked so solemn, and so much the medical practitioner that Rick wanted to laugh. The impulse turned into a cough. Jason went into the kitchen and brought back a cup of water. “Here—” He opened the bottle of antibiotics. “Have you had one this morning?”

  Rick shook his head, and stuck out his hand. “Thanks.”

  Jason checked his watch. He wasn't sure what to do, but he planned on having a talk with a friend of his who was a psychiatrist. Maybe he'd have some idea how to handle this.

  In the meanwhile, though, Jace's friendship with Rick took over. He wasn't about to let Rick die from his own stupidity. He stood up, and told Rick firmly, “You have today, you pig-headed asshole. So do what you need to do. I'm telling you right now, Rick—if there's not a big improvement by tomorrow morning—you're going back, even if I have to dope you up to do it.” He gave Rick a parody of the kindly smile he'd requested, then grabbed his gear and walked out the door.

  * * * *

  “Hey, Cat,” Rick greeted the skinny tom. He pulled a can of cat food out of a bag. “It's party time.” He wiped the sweat off his forehead, then squatted down, and yanked Cole's can opener out of his pocket. “Something tells me you were Caroline Denaro's cat.” He sniffed the air. “I wonder if you stunk this much when she had you.” He grinned. “At least I won't have any trouble coming up with a name for you.”

  Rick gave the smelly cat another pat, then stood up and took a look at the stairs. He figured that if the woman were going to contact him again, it would probably be in the lab. Right now, though, the upper floor seemed an awfully long way above him. He wobbled over to a designer chair by the fountain, and plopped down into it. He leaned back and closed his eyes, resting until he could get back his strength. He didn't even realise he'd dozed off, until the cat startled him awake. It was sharpening its claws on the back of the leather seat. “Cut it out!” Rick complained, as the cat's claws jabbed his right bun. But he made no complaint a few minutes later, when a bony, warm, furry body crept into his lap. Smelly or not, it was a helluva lot better than being alone.

  * * * *

  His stinking companion was the one who warned him. At the rattle of a key in the lock, the feline hissed, then sprang off Rick's lap and raced around the corner. Rick absently rubbed the cleat marks on his leg. “Damn cat,” he muttered, then suddenly realised
he was no longer alone.

  A man had joined him near the fountain. Rick, startled, jerked fully awake.

  * * * *

  Justin Sacchara hadn't thought there was anyone home. There was no car in the drive. The last thing he'd expected was to encounter Lockmann under these circumstances. He'd come to do a little discreet nosing around in the man's possessions—and into his computer files, if he was lucky enough to gain access.

  Richard Lockmann hadn't set the alarm since he'd moved in, so Sacchara couldn't gauge when he was in residence. If the alarm had been on, it would have been recorded at Genetechnic, and Justin could have felt a little more secure about timing his breaking-and-entering act.

  Once Lockmann had seen him, there was no point in subterfuge. The man was bound to encounter him if he took a position at Genetechnic. It'd be better to see if he could talk his way out of this.

  Sacchara stared at the other man for a moment, before Lockmann realised he was there. Justin wasn't impressed with what he saw. Lockmann didn't look capable of standing up, let alone running a lab. Sacchara concealed his disappointment. Unless Daniel could get someone to replace Denaro, things would remain in this limbo state, and the pressure would never be off. They needed to move ahead, find out what went wrong. Vizar was certain they had the beginnings of an incredibly profitable venture on their hands, but only if they could find a way to manipulate it. Lockmann didn't look capable of manipulating anything.

  Sacchara took the initiative. “Hello,” he greeted the other man. “I'm Justin Sacchara—from Genetechnic.”

  Rick started to get up, but Sacchara put out a hand to stop him. “Don't get up—”

  Rick was embarrassed. Even though the other guy was, in essence, trespassing, he was the one who felt at a disadvantage. “I'm Rick Lockmann.” He held out a hand. “Your new tenant.”

  “Sorry to just barge in, but there's something wrong with the alarm system.”

  “I haven't used it—”

  “We were running a routine check of the system, and found a glitch—probably a loose wire or something.” Sacchara looked apologetic. “We usually house our employees in these premises. When something goes wrong, we just run by and fix it.” Sacchara smiled. “I guess I forgot to consider who our tenant was this time.”

  Rick nodded. “I guess I should be grateful for such an efficient landlord.” Who barges in uninvited. Aloud, he added, “Next time, though—if you could give me twenty-four hours’ notice—”

  “Of course, Dr. Lockmann.”

  Rick glanced up at him quickly. So Sacchara had remembered about his title. He wondered what else Sacchara knew about him. “There's no point in your coming back. Feel free to check it out now.”

  Sacchara went over to a panel on the wall, and fiddled with a few of the wires. Rick had the impression he was doing just that: fiddling around to make it look like he was doing something.

  In a few minutes, Sacchara closed the panel and joined him. “All fixed.”

  Rick pushed himself up out of the chair. Time to get this joker out of here. “Thanks.” He moved toward the door. “Everything else seems to be working great.”

  “Don't you work at Entadyne Research Centre?” Sacchara asked. “I saw it on your application,” he explained.

  Rick knew Sacchara was really asking, Why aren't you at work? What's the matter, Sacchara? Afraid I won't be able to keep up the rent? “Usually,” Rick said, smiling, “but I've had pneumonia, so I've taken a few weeks off.” So I'll be here, if you decide to “inspect” anything else.

  “How bad?”

  “Not bad. I'm on antibiotics now.”

  Sacchara hesitated in the entryway. He studied the empty room behind him, his eyes lingering on the stairs to the second floor.

  Rick turned to see what Sacchara was looking at. He gasped, at the sight of Caroline Denaro staring with intense hatred at the man by his side.

  Sacchara heard him and said in concern, “I didn't mean to keep you on your feet so long, Rick. You'd better get some rest now.” Rick started to close the door, but Sacchara stopped him. “If you see anything—anything at all—that might need our attention, please let us know.”

  “I will,” Rick said quietly. He closed the door.

  Caroline Denaro was still on the stairs. Rick slid down along the glass, and sat on the floor, reluctant to move too far from the door. He'd seen her several times now, but never with that look of malevolence on her face.

  One thing he knew now, however. He'd been able to see Denaro very clearly, but Sacchara hadn't seen her at all. For better or worse, Caroline Denaro was becoming his problem, and he had no intention of mentioning it to Justin Sacchara, or anyone else from Genetechnic. Whatever was going on, it apparently wasn't anything that Genetechnic had been able to fix.

  Chapter Four

  Cole poked his head into the lounge. Rick was there, right where he was supposed to be. “How come the phone was busy all afternoon?” he asked. “I was trying to check if you were still alive.”

  “And you figured that since the phone was busy I must be?”

  “Nice try. Actually, Simon came by here at lunchtime—and you weren't here.” Cole plopped down in a chair. “You may be skinny, but unless you turned sideways, I think he still would've seen you.”

  “Very funny. I had to feed my cat.”

  “Is that one of those varieties with an enormous grin, and that smokes a pipe or something?”

  “Get it right. Enormous grin, and fades—except for the grin.”

  Cole smiled. “Got it. Big grin, non-existent cat.”

  “Only it's not.” Rick knew he was stalling, but he really didn't want to drag Cole into this any deeper. Whatever Genetechnic was doing, it hadn't been healthy for Caroline Denaro. And Cole had no idea what safety measures to take in a lab situation.

  “Enough with the jokes.” Cole was getting frustrated. “Not what?”

  “Not non-existent. That cat we saw at Denaro's house?” Cole nodded. “I'm pretty sure it's hers. It was getting really skinny so I fed it.”

  “Did you feed yourself, too?”

  “Not with cat food.” Rick grinned. “Cole, lay off. I'm grateful for all your help, but I can handle this on my own.”

  Cole looked doubtful, but he didn't say anything. He'd feel the same way if Rick tried to tell him what to do. Besides, since Rick had been sick, he tended to be on the cranky side. And Cole didn't want to irritate him.

  He tried another tack, which—for him—was subtle. Rick had gone to the Mausoleum, and Cole guessed it wasn't solely to feed the cat. He wanted to know if anything else had happened to make his efforts worthwhile. “Did you have any visitors today?” he asked. “Any surprise guests?”

  “Other than Jace?”

  “Of course, other than Jace. You know who I'm talking about.”

  “As a matter-of-fact, yes.” Rick grinned when he saw the expression on Cole's face. He'd thought Rick was referring to Caroline Denaro. “Justin Sacchara. Of Genetechnic.”

  “Welcoming committee? What'd he do, bring you candy and flowers? If so, I want my share—of the candy. You can keep the flowers.”

  “Generous of you. No, he came to fix my burglar alarm.”

  “Good. It's about time you had the sense to be alarmed about something.”

  Rick let that slide, but Cole saw the appreciative glint in his eye. At least he was starting to get his sense of humour back. Cole took that as a good sign.

  There was something else about Rick's rental of the Mausoleum that'd been bothering Cole. He hesitated a moment, then blurted out, “Didn't you even stop to think that maybe what you did wasn't too smart? Letting Genetechnic know just how interested you were?”

  Rick looked embarrassed. “I guess my thought processes weren't processing,” he admitted glumly. He considered the matter for a moment, then his face brightened. “I can make it work in my favour, Cole.” Some of the tension went out of his face. “I'll make them think I'm hanging out for a job. Th
at I did it to gain a contact with the firm.”

  “Through their real estate agent?” Cole asked sarcastically.

  “I didn't go through an agent,” Rick said. “I contacted them directly.”

  Cole grinned. “Even when you're practically braindead, you somehow muddle through.” He shook his head. “You make me sick.”

  “Well, when you're through puking, you can drive me back to my place. My new place.”

  “Not a chance.”

  “Hey, look—I'm alarmed now.”

  “Damned right. You should be.”

  “That's not what I mean, and you know it. I have to go back. It's the only way I'm going to keep up the act, Cole.” Rick's voice was serious. “Supposedly, I live there. And I have to find out what this is all about.”

  “You've had three weeks to figure it out, Rick,” Cole reminded him.

  “I spent two of it doing research,” Rick argued. “Supposedly, I only ‘moved in’ a week ago,” Rick argued.

  Cole thought about it. Rick had gone to a lot of trouble planning this, in order to help someone who was probably past all help, anyway. Still, if it was that important to him, Cole knew anything he said wouldn't be enough to get the idea out of Rick's fixated brain. “Let me get this straight: you want to sleep at my former would-be place, work at your old place, and not work at Entadyne any more.”

  “And eat at your place.”

  Cole was puzzled. “Did you get a big raise for doing nothing? How can you afford all that rent?”

  “I can't,” Rick admitted grudgingly. “Why do you think I didn't have any food in the house? After I rented the furniture—”

  “You rented furniture? You? You who barely knows what day it is, let alone what he's sitting on?” Cole looked at him closely. “Maybe I should take you back to the hospital right now.”

  “Waste of money. I don't need a doctor.”

  “Yes, you do. A psychiatrist.”

  “Let me get this straight: my ‘normal’ behaviour—playing with fungus, living in a cluttered dwelling with ramshackle furniture—doesn't bother you. You're worried because I've moved into a nice place, and rented good furnishings.”