Light Plays: Book Two of The Light Play Trilogy

by N. D. Hansen-Hill

  * * * *

  Gabe Finlay opened the car door for Rick when Rutgers called it a day. “I caught your cat,” he said, a little triumphantly. He had scratches and bite marks on his hands and arms.

  “Does he have as many bite marks as you do?” Rick asked, with a trace of a smile.

  Gabe grinned. “Nearly. Phil, you'll have to ride with Johnson and me. Rick's going to have to find room in the back.” He smiled widely.

  Rick bent over to climb in, and the pungent aroma of charred wood filled his nostrils. He glanced at Gabe, who winked. “I got lots of help,” he said. “Calloway showed us which ones were your favourites. According to him, they're all the ones that are either too heavy to comfortably lug around, or that have unreadable names on the front. Kerrington and Stratton helped him fish out most of them. By the way,” he sniggered, “the Lightning Boys'll be around to see you later. Calloway said he needed to get the charcoal out of his nose hairs first.”

  The back of the car was filled with Rick's books. Some were smoke-damaged, and a few were waterlogged, but the majority were intact. “I have the trunk filled, too.” Gabe went around to the back and opened the lid. “Let me see—it's here somewhere.” He pulled out a Rick's diploma, which now sported a cracked frame, and several boxes of slides. “And Calloway said you can't get by without this.” In his arms he held a statue of a pudgy cherub. The smoky char gave it an aged look, and the smile was creased with black. Gabe balanced it in one arm, and used his sleeve to wipe the mouth clean. The smile seemed to glow through the smudgy darkness of the face. “He says it's your good luck piece.” Finlay shoved it into his arms. “Though it hasn't done a very good job so far,” he muttered.

  Rick smiled. He reached out to shake Finlay's hand, then, to the other man's surprise, he yanked him forward and gave him a quick hug. Jamaal snickered at the expression on Finlay's face, and Johnson began laughing outright. “Thanks, Gabe,” Rick said simply.

  “Ooh, can I give you a hug, too?” Jamaal asked Finlay. Johnson's booming laugh echoed against the building.

  “See what you've done, Lockmann,” Gabe said gruffly, embarrassed but pleased. “Now, I'll have to shoot these two thugs, so I don't have any witnesses.”

  Rick climbed into the car and Phil handed the plaster angel into his arms. “Poor Joe,” Rick said, patting the cherub on his head. “He's had to put in a helluva lot of over-time.”

  * * * *

  Rick waited, smiling, until Phil Rutgers had left the room. Then, with a grateful sigh, he flopped down wearily on the bed. To the end, he'd been determined to act enthusiastic and energetic, but Rick had the feeling the other man wasn't fooled.

  Rick had kept up the illusion as long as he could, but he had to admit he was feeling damn tired. Exhausted, bone-weary, dog tired. Used up. Hell, even Phil Rutgers had looked more energetic when he'd left here than Rick felt. They hadn't accomplished much either, which bothered Rick. His mind wasn't nearly as numb as his body. He could think of a dozen more things he would've liked to do in the lab before Phil called it a day. And he suspected, though Rutgers hadn't said anything, that they'd called it a day because of him.

  It was fortunate that Phil, like most of his other friends, still felt uncomfortable eating in front of him—like they were depriving him of some special treat. There were times when Rick might have agreed with them, but not now. All Rick wanted at the moment was for Rutgers to make his meal as long as possible. Long enough for Rick Lockmann to get some rest, before Denis, or Steven, or Jace, or any of his well-wishers popped in for a visit.

  Phil and Steven Hylton had come to an agreement: that Rick be allowed to carry on his work as long as he continued to return to the hospital—for a while, anyway—on a kind of outpatient basis. Nights in the hospital, days in the lab.

  Rick didn't argue. In fact, he was making a conscious effort to be reasonable. The last thing he wanted was to cause anyone any more trouble. And the last thing he wanted to admit was the amount of fatigue he was feeling. That might give Steven and the others a reason to delay, or—more likely—to assign someone else to the work, despite the risks. And, for all that Rick's guilt had been largely alleviated by Jason's visit, he still needed the work to validate his existence. After his disappearing act, he wasn't at all sure that Steven Hylton would give him his old life back. And Rick knew—after the chaos he'd caused—that he would never have the nerve to either ask for, or expect, it.

  There are some things that are your fault, and until you learn to accept it—

  Rick had heard it twice now, but some part of his mind triggered a memory block after that, but he already knew the finish: violence, injury, death—to someone else. Unacceptable rewards for going your own way. Unacceptable consequences for non-compliance. Rick vowed—despite how he really felt—to comply. For just the flicker of a moment, the thought of non-existence penetrated his consciousness, making him wonder if that might still be the better way to go. Then it flickered out. Too many people had invested too much in him.

  Like trust. There were no longer any guards in his room. They were all outside the door, to give him the illusion of privacy. A dead Lockmann would make them all look like fools. The ultimate slap in the face. Besides, Rick told himself, I've never chosen the easy way. I'm not going to start now.

  * * * *

  “He's too quiet,” Finlay muttered. He'd taken a shower and cleaned off the soot. Then, he'd decided to stop by and see how Lockmann was doing before he left.

  Chan looked confused. “What d'ya mean ‘too quiet’? He's in a hospital, for crissake. What did you expect him to do? Pound the walls? Crank up the volume?”

  Finlay ignored him. Instead, he silently pushed open the door, and checked inside. Lockmann was there, all right, but he was lying on the bed. Gabe glanced at the windows. There were at least two hours of daylight left. “Rick,” he called softly. No answer.

  Chan, peering over his shoulder, whispered, “See—I told you. No problem.”

  But, Finlay was already on the phone to Denis Rodrigal. “No—he's stretched out on the bed—”

  “What the hell's wrong with you?” Chan asked in disbelief. He covered the mouthpiece with his hand. “Can't the guy get any sleep without everyone going nuts?”

  Finlay wasn't listening. Instead, he was nodding at something Rodrigal was saying. He yanked Chan's hand off the mouthpiece. “Yeah,” he told Denis. “I'll stay with him till you get here.”

  * * * *

  Rick didn't know what had woken him up: the sudden radiance of the lights, or the loud, off-key humming and thunking movements in the room.

  “You know what your problem is?” a voice asked, with irritating loudness.

  Rick smiled. “No, but I bet you're going to tell me,” he mumbled.

  “Oh, did I wake you up?” the voice asked with false regret. “Don't mind me. Just go back to sleep.” This was followed by more thunking. The voice went on to say, “You know what's really boring?”

  “Don't have a clue,” Rick said, still refusing to open his eyes.

  “Watching someone else sleep. Unless it's a woman, of course. Then you can use the time to do a little close examination.”

  Rick was just sinking back into oblivion when the voice came again. “You still asleep?”

  Rick gritted his teeth. “No,” he said bluntly.

  “Good.” It came closer. “Open your eyes. I want to show you something.”

  Rick forced open one eye, but his nostrils picked up the aroma of peppermint, and his other one popped open. “Gum!” he said excitedly.

  Cole grinned. “Yeah.” The expression on Rick's face reminded him of kid he'd once met, who'd been deprived of candy all his life. Cole had offered the boy a chocolate bar, and the kid had gone hog-wild.

  Cole yanked back the gum. “Whoa—I don't want to create a monster.”

  Rick looked at him blankly, then snatched the gum out of his hand before he could retreat. “Good. Sugarless.” He shoved some in his mouth and chew
ed with loud, smacking sounds. “Best gift I've ever had, Cole,” he said, grinning. “I haven't used my jaw in so long that it's nearly atrophied.” He blew a bubble, then sat up in the bed, against the headboard. “When did you get here?”

  “Hours ago. You've been sleeping like the dead. I came to pay my last respects, but decided you needed gum instead.”

  Rick glanced at the window, then at his watch. “Five hours,” he said in disgust. “I didn't want Phil to know how tired I was, but I guess he's figured it out.”

  “Him, and half the staff. Gabe freaked out because you were so quiet, and it's been a regular parade through here. Jace finally told them to where to go, so you could get some sleep.”

  “Jace did that?” Rick asked, surprised.

  Cole grinned. “Well—not exactly. It went something like: ‘His vitals are all within the normal range—for Rick. I think we should let his body regulate how much sleep he needs’. Emphasis included. Nice way of saying fuck off, huh?” Cole went over and flopped in a chair and stretched out his legs. “I told them I'd keep an eye on you. They wanted to put you on the monitor again, but I told Denis he didn't have to.”

  Rick tried to picture Denis relying on Cole and failed. “What else did you tell him?” he asked, curious.

  “That I had the eyes of an eagle and the reflexes of a striking snake.” Cole grinned. “Actually,” he admitted, “I told him Jace and Simon would be right back. They went to get some coffee.”

  * * * *

  Jace could hear Cole's voice from out in the hall. He glanced at Simon. “I guess Rick's awake,” he said unnecessarily.

  David Geraldo told him, “At least ten minutes now. Unless Calloway's carrying on a monologue.”

  “That's probably how it started out,” Simon said, “until he managed to wake Rick up.” He looked at Jason. “I assume that's why you suggested I come with you.”

  Jace shrugged, a little sheepishly. “I did figure it was time he woke up, unless he wanted to find himself back under constant observation. Cole's the best alarm clock I know.”

  David snorted. “Well, Doc,” he said. “The ‘cluck’ went off right on time.”

  * * * *

  “The problem with you is you don't get any solid food. How can anyone keep a positive attitude without a good chew?”

  “David called you a ‘cluck’,” Simon told Cole as they entered the room. “Do you want me to kill him for you?” He could hear Geraldo's snort of laughter through the partially-opened door.

  “You're always running around, threatening to kill people,” Jace complained. “Get some self-control.” He went over to the bed. “How are you, Rick? What are you eating?” He looked suspiciously at Cole.

  “Tobacco,” Rick replied. “Anybody got a spittoon? I feel a loogey coming on—” He gargled in his throat, trying to generate some mucus.

  “Peppermint tobacco. Sugar-free?”

  Cole looked offended. “What do you think? I'm just trying to give his jaw a work-out, not kill him. I may be a spy, but I'm not like Simon.”

  Simon's eyebrows lifted. “Spy? Who said you're a ‘spy’?”

  “You did, you fool. You called me a ‘spy-man’.”

  “The first thing you have to learn, Calloway, is selective memory. My memory's selected to forget that painful moment.”

  “We didn't accomplish much today,” Rick told Jason. “I need to go back tomorrow, to see how the inoculations went.”

  Jace nodded. “Depends on how they interpret your ‘sleep’. If it's ‘pass out’, I'd say you're out of luck, but since they didn't find you on the floor, they may just curtail your work hours.” His eyes met Rick's. “I mean, this isn't exactly like you, either. No floor pacing, wall climbing, incessant reading. Hell, Rick—you got blown up today. Denis gave you a pretty thorough inspection, but you weren't exactly available for questions. Do you hurt anywhere?

  “My pride's bruised,” he said, thinking about the “thorough inspection” Denis had made. He hesitated, then finally admitted, “My chest's a little sore.”

  “Did you hit your head when you landed?”

  Rick grinned, a little sheepishly. “I don't think so. It was more of a rolling thud.”

  In the background, Cole murmured something about “knock some sense out of him.”

  “Are you still tired?”

  Rick shrugged. “It's almost my normal sleeping time,” he said. “I always get tired around now. Unless someone has a sunlamp.” He looked hopefully at Cole.

  “No, Rick,” Jace told him firmly. “You want to work tomorrow, but you're going to have to listen to your body. You can't have it both ways—at least until the poison's out of your system.” He glanced at Cole. “Besides, Cole has a hot date—and he's said it's bound to last through the night.”

  “I'd like to know if he ever has a cold date,” Simon muttered. “Maybe that only happens after they get to know him.”

  Rick didn't even realise he'd nodded off again till he heard Cole's voice in his ear. “If you're going to fall asleep, give me back my gum. Before you drool it out on to your pillow.”

  Rick spat the gum in Cole's general direction. It landed on his foot.

  “That's disgusting,” he complained.

  Rick grinned. “I'm just giving it back,” he said.

  Cole hesitated only briefly, then blurted out the question that had been bothering him for the last two days. “Rick, can you really do ball lightning?”

  Simon grabbed the back of his neck, to yank him away, and Jace elbowed him angrily in the side.

  “Cut it out! What do you want? For me to pretend it didn't happen? Hell, everybody and his grandmother knows about it. I think it's better we talk it over.”

  "I expected you to consider how it might affect someone else," Simon whispered to him angrily. In the next moment, Rick's hand was on his, detaching it from Cole's neck.

  “Don't, Simon,” he said soberly. “It's okay.” Jace pulled over a chair, and Rick sat down. “Thanks.”

  “What was it like, Rick?” Cole plopped down on the bed, and stretched out his feet.

  “Like a dream. I can't remember much, except this feeling of flying.”

  “How did you end up at Sheryl's?” This was the part that had been bothering Simon.

  Rick stared at the wall, but he wasn't really seeing it. “All I remember is a feeling of urgency, and then seeing Sheryl's face.” His own expression grew grim. “She was terrified. That guy was a beast.” He tried to explain it. “He had a—a dark look to him. I could see it all really clearly. I just didn't know how I was going to stop him. I only knew I had to.”

  “The ball lightning—” Cole urged.

  “It was the easiest form I could do.” Rick shrugged. “I don't even know how I did it. Everything's pretty confused now.”

  “Didn't you say this out-of-body stuff was related to kung fu, Jace?” Cole asked. “I wonder how hard it is to do.”

  "Oh my God—" Simon went over and thunked his fist against the wall. Outside the room, Jace could hear David Geraldo laughing.

  Cole grinned. “Nobody ever takes me seriously. I'm going to find out more about this stuff. Then, Dr. Dung, the next time you take a ‘trip’, I might just come along for the ride.”

  Epilogue

  Rick awoke with the first rays of morning light. He sat up in bed, conscious of a sense of well-being. Intellectually, he knew he should be mourning the loss of his home and possessions. But it just didn't gel with the way he felt. I'm alive, he thought gratefully. He could so easily have ended up as a charred piece of the wreckage.

  He watched dust motes dancing through the streamers of daylight. In one of those swift, fluid motions that was so much a part of him now, he went over to the window, then pushed it open wide, so the light could stream in unhindered by glass. At the sound, Cole poked his head around the door. He looked crumpled and tired. “What did ya do, Cole?” Rick asked in surprise. “Spend the night?”

  Cole frowned and shrugged. “
Geraldo needed my company.” There was a loud snort on the other side of the door. “How are you, anyway?”

  “Great,” Rick said, enthusiastically. “I got this idea when I was sleeping, about how I could use the vector patterns—”

  Cole held up a hand. “Whoa!” He put his head back around the door and spoke to someone on the other side. “He's got fungus on the brain again. We can go.”

  “Who's out there?” Rick asked suspiciously.

  “Nobody.”

  “Speak for yourself, Calloway,” a voice said.

  “He said ‘nobody’. He is speaking for himself,” someone else commented.

  “I've talked Hylton into—” Cole began.

  “Nagged Hylton into—” someone corrected him. Rick thought it sounded suspiciously like Steven Hylton.

  “Anyway—you can stay with me when you get out of here.”

  Rick grinned. “Thank God Stench won't be homeless,” he chuckled.

  Cole looked sick. “I forgot.”

  “What happened to your hot date?”

  “She got rained on.” He yawned. “See ya, Rick.”

  “See ya, Cole.” Outside there was a shuffling of chairs, the thudding of feet, and some not-so-whispered arguments. Rick wondered how many people were out there, and for a moment, was tempted to look.

  No, he decided with a smile. Some things it's better not knowing.

  He turned, and saw Joe Cherub grinning at him. The cherub was perched on a makeshift altar, and someone had stuck some dandelions in a cup at its feet, and a bedpan on its head.

  Rick moved out of the sunlight, so a ray could hit Joe straight on. The light picked out the white spots on the charred cherub so that he almost seemed to glow in the sunshine.

  Rick stood before the other window and let the sun touch his skin. “Things aren't too bad, if you can still glow in the sunlight, Joe,” he said.

  Like me, he thought, grinning, as he remembered the people who'd waited through the night, just to see how he'd fared.

  Like me.

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to thank Cindy Bardell, Connie Hedrick, Kim Minnell, Sam W. Sanders, Ernest Bush, Patsy Lambert, Tashley Hansen-Hill, and Frostflower for their help, support, and encouragement.