“You're lucky I came at all, after you ran out on me that way,” Eric said seriously, then ruined it by smiling. “You're looking a lot better, Rick.”
“We're here to talk to you about OBE's,” Steven told him.
It took Rick by surprise. He paled, then swallowed rapidly, as though he was having trouble finding his voice. “What's happened?” It came out in a whisper.
“Sheryl Matthews was attacked,” Steven said bluntly.
Rick's eyes widened. "Oh my God!" he muttered, and he sounded like he was strangling. “I thought it was a nightmare—” He jumped up out of the chair. “Is she okay?” he whispered.
Steven nodded. “She had surgery on the shoulder, and she's in a bed downstairs, if you'd like to see her.”
Rick shook his head. His eyes were dark with despair, and a glistening of sweat had broken out on his forehead. “You need to destroy me, Hylton,” he said soberly. “It's out of my control. Do it for your own good.”
“What's wrong with you, Rick?” Eric asked calmly.
“You don't understand—”
Eric Sterner looked from Rick's horrified expression, to Phil's poorly-concealed discomfort. “God, you guys are lame,” Eric said in disbelief. “What are you trying to hide? If you wanted to know something about it, why didn't you just ask someone who knows? Instead of working yourselves up into a frenzy?”
“Why?” Rick asked sarcastically. “Do you know somebody who's into OBE?”
“Yeah,” Eric replied, grinning. “Me.”
Rick's eyes widened. “You!”
“Yeah, me. When I was in college, we were all into transcendentalism, meditation, that kind of thing. I only quit because it was starting to interfere with my studies.” He gripped Rick's arm. “You're not Caroline Denaro, Rick, so you might as well stop trying to see yourself that way. It takes a special breed to become a psychopath the way she was. You just don't have that kind of ego.”
“That's not what turned her, Eric. She kept getting stuck outside. So she couldn't get back.”
Eric shrugged. “That's not going to happen to you. Hell, by the time I met her, she was only out because she wanted to be. It was more convenient.” He gave Rick a not-so-gentle push back into the chair. “She was unstable and manipulative. I run into her type every day.”
“Why didn't you say something before?”
“Because her manifestation was different from other kinds I'd seen. The word ‘demon’ came to mind. It was only later, after we were out of there, that I realised ‘demented’ was more appropriate.” He smiled, and his relaxed grin did a lot to put things back in perspective for Rick. “It's not like Cole did anything to brief me about her, either. His idea of forewarning me was to fall asleep on the way over.”
“Who's to say I don't have the same tendencies she did?”
“You're not any different out of your body than in it, Rick.” He glanced at Rutgers. “Phil, would you say Rick's mutation is finished? That he's not going to ‘evolve’ any more?”
Phil nodded. “Denis says there's been no change for well over a month.” He added, “And it's been double-checked since the incident with Sheryl.”
Rick glanced at him in surprise. He couldn't believe Phil had even set foot in his room after hearing about his little “trip".
“See?” Eric repeated what he'd told Cole, “Think of this as just another aspect—an extension, if you want to think of it that way—of your personality.” Rick still didn't look convinced. “Rick,” Eric said seriously, “if I were to hand you my gun, right now, what would you do with it?”
Rick gave a slight smile. “Throw it away.”
“The point is, you wouldn't shoot me. Even though you had a powerful weapon at your disposal—right in your hands.”
“You're not Denaro.” Phil added his vote of confidence. “If I thought you could be, Rick, I would've left when Steven first told me.”
“It's doubtful it'll happen again anyway, Rick,” Steven told him. “Someone put a hallucinogen in your IV.”
“Someone's been trying awfully hard to push me ‘out of my body’, Steven,” Rick said worriedly. “Do you know why?”
“We're not sure, but we think they want to use it for information-gathering.”
Eric snorted in disgust. “Level with him, Hylton. It's not only ‘gathering’—it's things like assassination, and launching nuclear weapons—”
Rick shuddered, and Phil said, “That's enough, Sterner. He gets the idea.”
“So they want to use me—”
“Not you, specifically. Just as a source of genetic material,” Steven told him. “You're useless as a weapon.” The words, coming from Hylton, and said with just the right note of disgust, did more to reassure Rick than anything else.
Eric was surprised at the reassurance from Hylton. Then it came to him: Hylton actually liked and respected Richard Lockmann—he just hated the way the situation kept constantly getting out of control. It cost lives, and made Hylton's staff seem less than adequate.
“Does anyone else know?” Rick's crystalline eyes had darkened with anxiety. Phil watched him closely. They weren't out of this yet.
Steven thought about Cole's comments, and then his eyes met Eric's. Suddenly, the room was filled with booming guffaws and snorts of amusement. Phil looked at them as though they'd both gone mad. Rick just looked confused.
Steven wiped the tears off his cheeks, and told Rick, “They know. Calloway wants to know if you can do it again—so he can photograph it—” He dissolved into laughter once more.
Rick still looked confused—and slightly repulsed.
“The ball lightning part, Rick,” Eric managed to get out. “Cole says it's the closest he's probably ever going to get.”
Rick sighed, and his eyes brightened. Cole tended to get a mindset about certain things. If he was okay with this, chances were Simon was, too.
Maybe.
They might be able to overlook this a lot easier than the other thing he'd done. This was an accident—an event, triggered by a chemical stimulus. The other—if there was a resemblance between him and Denaro, it was more in what he'd done than what he'd become.
Jace would never forgive him. No, corrected Rick—should never forgive him. As for Cole, and Simon—they might be able to overlook a lot, but whether there'd ever be that easy level of friendship again—
Not likely. What I did to one of my friends I could just as easily do to another. Let's face it: I'm not “friend” material any more. I'm a mutant.
Do ball lightning for me, Rick.
Worse—a freak.
Phil Rutgers watched the play of emotions across Rick's face. Sterner's matter-of-fact attitude had banished the last of his—Phil's—doubts. He knew they'd gone a long way toward reassuring Rick, too. But Rick was still having problems, and Phil suspected it had to do with Stratton. Guilt combined with fear. Rick wouldn't be able to live comfortably in his own skin until he stopped being afraid of it.
Steven Hylton turned to Rick and extended his hand. A little hesitantly, Rick returned the handshake. “I want to thank you, Rick, for what you did for Sheryl.” Steven grinned widely. “I owe you one.”
Rick looked surprised. “Since I couldn't really control it, I can't take the credit, Steven,” he muttered. “But, thanks.”
“I'd say you owe him more than one,” Eric told Hylton.
Steven flashed him a grin. “Yeah,” he admitted, and his smile included Rick. “But this one's personal.” He winked at Rutgers and headed out of the room.
“I think I've just seen a miracle,” Eric said. “Compared to the humanising of Steven Hylton,” he told Rick, “your little out-of-body shit is nothing.”
* * * *
“Steven?”
She was glad to see him. He grinned.
“I've got a problem—”
He ignored the chair and sat down on the side of her bed. “What's wrong?” he asked, taking her hand in his.
“It's my turn to babys
it the cat, and I can't.”
Steven looked at her like she'd lost her mind. “'Babysit the cat’?”
“Yes—Rick's cat. We've all been taking turns. Or, more precisely, everyone's had a turn but me and nobody wants seconds.”
He sighed. “More secrets. Let me guess—you're trying to tell me it's my turn now?”
“Or let me go home—”
He leaned over and kissed her. “Not a chance.”
“I can't do it!” she said, pulling away from him.
He looked slightly distressed. “Why?” he asked baldly.
“Not the kiss, you fool!” She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him down, so she could kiss him again. He was nibbling the side of her neck before she remembered what was bothering her. “The cat. I can't do this to you.”
“Do what?” he asked, a little impatiently. “You're interrupting.”
“Unload Stench on you. Everyone thinks it's a joke, but he's ugly and foul and nasty—”
“And, apparently, he stinks.” Steven grinned. “No problem.”
“He sprays. He'll stink up your house.”
“No he won't,” Steven told her calmly.
“You won't hurt him or anything, will you?” Sheryl asked him worriedly. “He means a lot to Rick.”
“Anyone can handle a cat, Sheryl. You just have to know how.”
“According to Gabe, he's very thorough about defining his territory,” she insisted.
“I can guarantee he won't touch a thing in my house,” he assured her again. “Just how do you propose to stop him?” she asked, not really sure she wanted to hear the answer.
“That's easy,” Steven told her. “I'm going to keep him at your place. By the time he's finished, you'll have no choice but to come home with me.”
* * * *
“I still think you should see Jace—”
Simon saw the expression on Rick's face, and noticed the way his hands were shaking. "That's it, Cole," he said.
Something in his tone penetrated. Cole glanced at Simon's eyes, and then at Rick. For once, he was able to see past his familiarity to the pain and panic building in Rick's expression.
Cole sobered, and he realised how much he was able to endure just by not thinking about it. Rick wasn't like that. He thought about everything. Now he'd been hit by Jace's illness, his own injury, this latest out-of-body thing—plus the guilt he was already feeling over Jason's mutation.
For the first time, Cole was really afraid that Rick might do what Simon had said.
Not because he's weak or selfish. But because he thinks it's better for everyone.
“Don't do it, Rick,” he said anxiously.
Rick looked confused—and weary. “Don't do what?”
“You know—the window.” Cole came over and gave him a brotherly hug. “I won't push you any more. And I damn well won't let Jace in here.” He frowned. “Even if he begs me.”
“I—I—”
“Don't say anything, Rick. It's okay—” Cole's grip tightened. He'd be losing a brother. That's how it felt. If Rick died, it'd be like losing his own blood.
“Cole—” Rick gasped.
“I think he's trying to tell you you're killing him, Cole,” Simon said calmly. “As strong as he is, in that judo hold he can't exactly get free without damaging you.”
Cole released him so suddenly that Rick almost toppled. “You okay—Brother?”
"Oh, Jesus!" Simon grimaced. “I think I'll be sick.”
“Maybe you can teach me that judo hold some time, Cole,” Rick muttered. Simon saw his expression and pulled up a chair. Rick dropped into it.
“Sure—” Cole said. He made a point of never getting emotional. Once it started, he didn't know what to do with it.
“I'll show you, Rick,” Simon told him coolly. “There's no point in asking an amateur.”
“'Amateur’, bullshit,” Cole replied, grateful to Simon for giving him something to gripe about. He blew his nose on a paper towel. “I'll take you on any day.”
“Why not now? You wanted to work out—I'll teach you some new moves. That way, if Steven ever gives you the pummelling you deserve, at least you'll be able to fight back.”
“Steven's so grateful to me for saving your sneaky ass that he's more likely to give me a medal—”
“See ya, Rick,” Simon said.
“Rick—” Cole began.
“We'll start with this move—” Simon twisted Cole's arm behind his back, winked at Rick, and propelled Cole out of the room.
* * * *
“We've both had WTV. Do we really have to wear this stuff?” Rick shifted uncomfortably in the isolation gear.
“It'll be safer—for us, and anyone we have contact with when we leave.”
Rick nodded, and tried to ignore his discomfort. Finally, it got to the point where he couldn't ignore it any longer. “Phil—all whingeing aside—I don't think I can breathe in this gear.” He sat down heavily in a chair, and a note of amusement crept in as he almost missed the seat. “And I know I can't see—”
It wasn't the first time Phil had heard complaints about the equipment from people he worked with. “Don't you wear any protection when you work in your own lab?” he started to say.
Then, he looked over at Rick. His visor was steamed up, and it was obvious he was having problems. By this time he was slumped back in the chair and gasping, while his hands fought feebly to undo the clasps. “What the hell—?” Phil stooped down, and started yanking off Rick's headgear and coveralls.
Once freed, Rick leaned back gratefully and shut his eyes. After a few minutes he tried to explain, “I couldn't breathe with my skin all covered like that—” he said. “Thanks.”
“Sorry, Rick. I didn't know.”
Rick offered him a sickly grin. “Neither did I. I thought I was imagining things.”
Rutgers had slipped off his own glove and was taking Rick's pulse. “How's the chest?”
“Fine.”
“Let me guess: all that gasping actually felt good.”
Rick's grin widened. “I did get this sudden image of me with gills and fins, lying on the deck of someone's boat.” He rested for a moment longer, then told Phil, “Cole said they put me in gear like this to sneak me out of Genetechnic. I must have been in dark phase or something. Anyway, it's not going to work when I'm active.” His smile faded. “Sorry,” he said, a little sheepishly. “I'll just have to be more careful.”
“Damn it, Rick!” Phil said, exasperated. “It's not your fault.”
“That's not the point.”
For the first time, Phillip Rutgers looked angry. “Yes, it is. There's a lot that is your fault, and until you can learn to accept it, you're going be putting other people in danger.”
Phil saw a flicker of despair in Rick's eyes, and took a firm grip on his arm. Am I doing this too soon? he wondered. Does he need more pressure right now?
It was too late. Now that he'd semi-committed himself to speaking, some part of his brain wouldn't let him stop.
“Five years ago I found out I had cancer,” Phil admitted bluntly. “Top of my practice, everything going for me.” He gave a wry grin. “They excised the tumour, then gave me chemo. For the last three years it's looked good—to everyone but me.”
“Sorry to hear it—” Rick began.
“Shut up and listen.” Phil was silent for a moment, then went on. “I felt like I was running around with a giant ‘C’ on my forehead. Hell, everyone knew about it. The sympathy drove me crazy. I felt like they were watching me, waiting for me to die.”
“Or show signs of weakness.”
Phil flashed him a grin. “Exactly. And I knew damn well my chart was full of comments about my ‘condition’.” He released Rick's arm, and sat down in the chair next to him. “Anyway, the shares of Phillip Anthony Rutgers’ stock had bottomed out. On the open market, they were worthless. I've spent the last five years trying to make myself valuable enough so someone would care whether I lived or died
.”
Rick put a hand on his shoulder, but was tactfully silent.
“I had this feeling that—if I was in an accident or something—they wouldn't try very hard to save me. Even though I was in remission, I wouldn't be worth much effort. That ‘no heroics’ mentality.” His smile had no humour in it. “So I moved. Jobs, city, friends—everything. I worked at the Disease Centre for a while, but I thought Genetechnic would value me more: more personal contact, and a lot more money. I guess I decided that between my humanitarian efforts, would-be friendships, and the money I was going to make, I'd be worth saving. You know how it goes: make yourself so indispensable that they'd be at a loss without you. If they didn't bring flowers to the hospital, I'd make damned sure they cried at my funeral.” His eyes met Rick's. “But —the point is—when it came down to it—to the real nitty-gritty, life-or-death, moment of truth—none of that stuff mattered.” He smiled. “Because, when Denaro pinned me down, you didn't let her have me. You knew I worked for Vizar—for that bastard Raeiti, for crissake! And you still carried me out of there.”
Rick looked embarrassed. “Anyone would have—” he began.
“I don't even know why you did it—but you didn't let me die.”
“Phil, that's ridiculous. You came with Simon to find me—even though you were scared shitless. Why the hell would I even consider leaving you behind?”
Rutgers grinned and stood up. “For the first time in five years I finally feel like I'm in remission. Like I'm not going to die.”
Rick told him seriously, “Maybe it's Denaro you have to thank, Phil. Her little ‘out-of-body’ trick? There are some things worse than death.”
Phil shook his head. “Don't you get it? I was so busy worrying about my problems, that I forgot what it was like to be part of the human race: to work together for the common good. You reminded me.”
Rick heard a voice from behind him.
“And you gave me a chance to be human for a while longer.”
Rick sighed. Rutgers was standing in front of him now, blocking his exit, and Rick suddenly realised it was intentional. In a flash of insight he realised something else, too—that Rutgers already knew about the other thing he'd done.
Light Plays: Book Two of The Light Play Trilogy Page 27