See Part One for disclaimers and author's notes.
Chapter Two
-- Thunder and Lightning --
Rehearsal rolled around. Ray took the required shower and climbed into the costume. The soft, clean fabric felt good, felt right. He liked the color scheme. The blue long vest, almost a tunic in its own right, fell almost to his knees. It was secured by a wide blue sash/cummerbund -- he gave up trying to define the thing. He patiently allowed them to comb and style his hair, leaning back in the chair and closing his eyes.
"OK. You're done."
He opened his eyes, catching sight of himself in the mirror. Odd, he didn't remember looking that dignified. He frowned at his reflection. Memories flitted around the edges of his consciousness. He shook his head to clear it. He went and waited patiently while the rest of the show went on around him.
Lights, action, music. He watched the backstage action as they walked through the show, flat notes and missed lines, of which there were very few. It was fascinating. He didn't remember ever having paid much attention to things once his own part in it was over. By the time the show was in rehearsal, or in production, he was usually half way to blasted out of his skull. For the first time in longer than he could recall, he was seeing the world around him with a clarity that was usually reserved for his work.
His cue came. He took a breath and moved out onto the stage proper. He stepped onto the small platform that would lift him to the top of the pillar and into the pyrotechnics. His rise was swift. He rose into view, raised his arms and electricity played around him, or seemed to do so. He looked at the producers and their entourages watching the production. On some nearly protean level, he could feel the power. Fascinated, he reached for it. Electricity played across his finger tips. He stared at it in fascination. It felt right. With a smile, he gathered more. The techs responsible for the special effects noticed that the ones for Ray were changing, growing. They scurried here and there attempting to figure out what was happening.
On stage, Ray was reveling in the feel of using his power. As he began to feel more at home with the energy coursing through him, he began to remember. He remembered thunderstorms, expressing his displeasure with such displays. His displeasure. His anger. He remembered standing on a boulder near a skull like sculpture, lightning playing through and around him. He was rescuing someone, someone about whom he cared. He frowned. He remembered a portal opening, an enemy on the other side, the faces of -- of -- NO! Kung Lao. Siro. Taja.
Overpowering anguish, sorrow at the loss of -- of protegees, of friends. No use of power could save them, nothing could save them. Ray howled in anguish and in an unprecedented explosion of pyrotechnics, disappeared from the stage leaving the star and a number of other people staring open mouthed in surprise. The finale went off with a bam, something very like a crash of thunder deafening everyone for a few moments.
Jeremy blinked at the set. Where the hell was that idiot drunk? He quickly reviewed the sequence of events, isolated Ray from the scene and frowned. Something had gone wrong with the special effects. His face brightened. The special effects. He smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. The drunken sot had nearly destroyed his star's production. That would teach her to listen to him when he offered advice. He excused himself to get to the stage and his star.
"Are you all right? What happened?"
Carly looked around at him. "You're asking me? You were in the audience. What did you see? All I got was that the pyrotechnics were better than ever and then -- wham -- more noise than I've heard in an enclosed space in some time. Sounded like a thunderstorm had gotten in the place with us." Carly was almost yelling over the ringing in her ears.
"That drunken sot looked like he was --" Jeremy stopped. The drunken sot looked like he was playing with the electricity, controlling it. No, he was controlling it. What the hell was he? Some sort of alien? A governmental experiment gone wrong? He changed his tactics suddenly. "You're sure you're OK? Nobody hurt?" There were a number of answers to the affirmative. "Good. Good. Pick it up from just before the explosion and let's get the rest of this rehearsal put away. We have a show tonight."
"We're missing a player and I can barely hear," Carly pointed out testily.
"I'll get you a new prop. Take a 15 minute break while the techs check everything out and reset. You rehearse. I'll find a replacement. Hell, I'll replace him if I have to."
Carly grinned at him. He felt weak in the knees for a moment, then stiffened them and walked out of the rehearsal area. Terry, taking in the departure, the reactions and Jeremy's thoughts flitting across his mobile face, thought it might be a good idea for someone to go looking for Ray. She had a feeling he might need warning.
Jeremy headed for an office and a private line to make some inquiries. He had friends in interesting places who just might find his observations of the technician named Ray of interest. He was right. His contacts were intensely interested.
Teresa went looking for Ray. The only problem was, she couldn't for the life of her figure out where she should start. She looked in the hallway where he had slept last night. Nope. OK, outside. She checked all around the auditorium. Nothing. She leaned against the wall and considered for a few moments. If she was Ray and had suddenly discovered that she could throw lightning bolts at will and was coming out of a drunken haze when she discovered it -- might she not head for someplace that supplied the alcohol that would fuzz out her brain for her again. Assuming, of course, that fuzzing out was what she wanted. She closed her eyes and visualized the look on Ray's face. Pain. Agony. Oh, yes. Deadening the pain would probably be just the ticket.
She stepped back inside the building, located a phone book and looked for the nearest liquor stores. There were three. She'd start with the closest and work her way outward.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
"He was right, I did dispose of his friend. My name's Micah Devereaux. I usually go by Mick rather than Mike. I have no intention of harming you," Micah told the girl as they walked away from the diner and the nasty little man.
She looked up at him with huge, wondering eyes and nodded. "I know," she said softly, the faintest hint of a Highland lilt in her voice. "I can feel."
He smiled. It was a charming smile. "Your name?"
"Siobahn. Siobahn McCullough."
"How old are you?"
"Turned 18."
"Turned 18. Before or after you discovered your talents?"
The question hung heavy in the air between them. "After," she said softly.
"It's alright. Let's get something to eat, and then we'll talk."
"Thank you." Her voice was still soft as she tucked her small, cold hand into his and let him lead her away.
Her manners, he noticed, were impeccable. They ate at an exclusive little restaurant he knew. He ordered as the menu was in French. She seemed content to let him make decisions. He wasn't certain whether this was good or bad. For survival, she would have to make her own decisions. Neither he nor a companion could protect her from the challenges fools were certain to make for her.
"That was good," she told him as they finished. "Very good. Thank you."
"You're welcome. Now, we go back to my place where we can talk."
She regarded him solemnly for a long moment, then nodded. "You're not like him."
"No. I'm not," he agreed. He felt some relief. The terrified girl was not as incapable of making decisions as he had feared. There was some courage their and some intelligence. She had weighed her decision as carefully as she could with the information at hand.
They walked back to his flat. Once there, he let her explore until she felt comfortable. Then he began to ask questions, to find out who she had been before she realized she was as different from other people as he was. He wasn't surprised to find out that she had come into her talents only a few weeks earlier. The little man, James Terhune, had kept an eye on her until an inexplicable kidnapping had dropped her into his lap, so to speak. She had fallen prey to a gang of talent seekers just two weeks short of her eighteenth birthday.
She had always known there was something odd about her background. That she was unofficially adopted, a foundling left on the front doorstep of her mother's home, she had been told as soon as she was old enough to understand. The neighborhood had been rough. She had been raised as well and as carefully as her mother could manage. Her mother had worked hard. Siobahn had grown up in an Hispanic, gang dominated neighborhood. As far as she knew, her mother still had no idea what had happened to her adopted daughter.
"I felt something hit -- here," she gestured to her head. "And then I woke up in a dingy room with James. He told me I had died and come back and that now I was some sort of -- of psychic vampire. I didn't understand all of it. I still don't."
"You're not. You didn't die. He just took advantage of your innocence. You are some sort of psychic talent. What probably happened was that the Talent Scouts came looking and found you. They take just beginning talents to train to their way of thinking. It's a wonder Terhune managed to get you away from them. Something must have stopped them." Micah could see that she was afraid, but she was also relieved that what James had led her to believe about how she was to survive was not real. "What we need for you now, is a mentor, someone to train you in the use of your talents, but not to use you."
She looked at him wide eyed. "I don't have one?" she asked in a small voice.
Micah met her gaze and grinned. "I'm not a talent. I don't know where to begin, or how to help. And I've been known to attract a lot of -- well, undue attention, shall we say? Even if I knew someone locally who could help to train you, it might not be the safest place to be." He couldn't quite bring himself to admit that he spent most of his time doing what he had today, rescuing people. Sometimes to his own detriment. He ignored the part of his mind that was staring at him in awe over the major simplification he had just perpetrated on himself.
Siobahn's face fell. "Then I can't stay with you."
"No. Well, you can for now, until we find someone to train you. Only until we find someone to train you."
"All right," she agreed. She was standing over by the window. A movement caught her eye. Ray had just stepped out of thin air onto the street. He was moving at a dead run without any regard for what was in his way or where he was. Two cars narrowly missed him. The third hit him square while braking. He rode up onto the hood, then tumbled off.
"Mick?"
"Yes?"
"You know that guy who landed on the table this morning?"
"Yes," he responded uncertainly. "Why?"
"I think he just got hit by a car downstairs."
"What?" Micah moved to the window and looked down. He could see the blue and white of Ray's costume through the crowd gathering around him. An ambulance drove up. Odd that it should be so prompt. He frowned as the paramedics loaded the body into the ambulance and it took off. He had a feeling that there was something very wrong about what he had just seen, but he couldn't pinpoint what.
He agreed that it was the man from the diner. "But I don't see what we can do about it."
"Find out where they took him?"
They regarded each other silently and he nodded. Both of them seemed to feel the old drunk was important.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Terry had checked all three liquor stores. She was aware of sirens in the area. As she stepped out of the third store, an ambulance shot past, lights atwirl and sirens screaming. She watched it roar past and thought nothing of it. She walked toward her car, looking around to see if she could come up with another idea as to where Ray might have gone. While she was surveying the area, she noticed the police cars leaving the accident site up the street and then she spotted the guy and the girl from the restaurant. They seemed to be talking to one of the policemen. Now why would they be -- talking -- to --
Terry had a brilliant idea. She walked over and waited until they were through and cleared her throat. "Excuse me." Micah and the girl whirled to face her, both of them looking a little pale. "Uh, sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. I'm Terry Boudreaux." She stuck out a hand expectantly.
Micah was trying to think of a swift way to get rid of the young lady when his companion introduced the two of them and shook Terry's hand. "You were at the restaurant this morning."
"Restaurant? Oh, the diner. Yeah. Look, I'm looking for the guy I was with this morning. Something panicked him at rehearsal and he ran." Well, it was 99% true. "I don't suppose -- you -- might have seen him?"
Siobahn and Micah exchanged a look. He nodded. She looked back at Terry and told her what she'd seen. "Though ran isn't exactly what I think I saw."
Terry looked from one to the other. "More like -- teleported? maybe?"
Micah took her arm and Siobahn took the other and they escorted her to Micah's Mercedes. Once she was safely ensconced in the back seat, Siobahn turned around in the front passenger seat to talk to her while Micah drove.
"What happened?"
Terry tried innocent. "What do you mean, what happened? I told you. Something panicked him and he ran. Uh -- teleported. Disappeared."
"What happened before that?" Micah cut in. A part of him was questioning his sanity. Why was he so certain that something else had happened? And why did he care? What was this old gray drunkard to him? He was not an immortal, not the way Micah was. Yet there was something about him --- He glanced at the rear view mirror to see a number of expressions chase themselves across Terry's face. "The truth," he prompted.
"OK. We had him costumed as a character out of one of the popular vidgames. White with a blue over tunic. All he had to do was ride this little platform two and a half feet to the top of a prop pillar and stand there looking cool while the pyrotechnics and electricity played around him. It was supposed to look like he was -- orchestrating the lightning."
"What happened?" Siobahn sounded breathless.
"Well, it was fine at first. He stood there, arms raised, looking -- looking pretty damn regal, to tell you the truth. I thought he looked a damn sight better than the original guy. He was enjoying it, you could see it in his face. Like," she thought about it for a few moments. "Like it was real for him," she said softly. "Like he'd been there."
"As though the thought of playing with that kind of power was not foreign to him," Micah added equally softly. Siobahn shot a quick look at him under pulled down brows. What was going on here?
"Yeah," Terry agreed. "Yeah. And then it was like he was playing with the lightning, like it was real. It didn't just go off around him, but through him. And then he panicked and vanished in a pretty impressive explosion that -- didn't damage anything," she ended thoughtfully. Now that she really examined what she saw, she realized that there hadn't been the kind of damage there should have been if the electricity, the pyrotechnics had gotten out of control. Whatever Ray had done, he had been in control even when he bolted. "Thunder. It wasn't an explosion. It was thunder," she told herself softly, momentarily forgetting her audience. She met Siobahn's eyes over the back of the seat. "So. Where are we going?"
"Hospital."
"Hospital. You did see him."
Siobahn nodded. "I was looking out the window when he -- just appeared. Two cars missed him, but the third caught him solid. He went up onto the hood before it stopped. When he rolled off, he just lay there. Though it was odd that the police and the ambulance showed as soon as they did," she said with a frown. "Well, no. There was a police car in the traffic, so I guess he must have called in the accident. But the ambulance was right there."
"That is odd." Terry looked around as they slowed and pulled into a parking lot. She stared at the modest building. She leaned forward as Micah turned off the engine and looked at the sign by the front entrance. "Guys, why did they bring Ray to a private psychiatric hospital?"
Micah and Siobahn returned her look. They too were curious. And they were wondering just how to explain their interest in Ray to the front desk without arousing anyone else's curiosity.
Inside, Ray was floating in and out of consciousness as he was wheeled into the hospital and down several white, brightly lit corridors. He hurt. He hurt in a number of places. What had happened? Oh. Yes. A car. He'd run into a car. Stupid thing to do. He tried to let these official looking people know he was all right. His mouth didn't seem to want to work quite correctly. His words were garbled, unintelligible. The paramedics, at least he thought they were paramedics, made reassuring noises, wheeled him into a utilitarian room and left him. He heard the key turn in the lock.
Ray frowned. He tried to move his hands to push his hair out of his eyes and found that he was restrained. Damn. He pulled against the restraints. His wrists hurt. He took a deep breath and released it. This was -- something. His thoughts were hazy. He managed to look down toward his wrists to the restraints. Where he had expected webbing to keep him on the gurney/bed he saw shiny, strong metal. They were a part of the framework. He frowned. He shifted his head to look around at the rest of the bed. All the same shiny metal he suspected was not steel or aluminum. He shook his head to clear it. Something was -- was not right. He tried to swallow, his mouth was dry. He could sense that he was being watched.
He closed his eyes. Not the happiest of choices. He could see their faces again, the memories becoming more and more crystal clear. The pain inside him built to more than that occasioned by the bruises and contusions of tangling with a moving mass of metal and plastic. His psyche hurt. His soul hurt. All for his arrogance, one small misstep that cost him all. He tightened his lips against the screams that tore at his throat in a desperate bid to come out. He had not screamed then, he would not now.
On the other side of an observation mirror, two psychiatrists and a handsome Oriental looking man clad all in black watched the struggle. Only the Oriental knew the truth of what he saw. The others saw only a patient, a man with delusions in need of help. The Oriental smiled behind them. He controlled his urge to laugh out loud at the thought of what these fools would do to the god on the other side of the glass in their pathetic attempts to cure him of his illness. He stepped out of the observation room into the corridor beyond and through a portal that whirled open to receive him. Neither he nor anyone else paid any attention to the wild eyed patient who saw the portal open and close.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Terry looked bewildered at the front desk of the hospital. She had just been told that no one answering the description of Ray had been brought into the facility that day, certainly not in the last hour.
"But this is where they said he was taken. I thought it sounded a little odd, of course. But he's not at any of the other hospitals in the city. You're my last hope. Unless --" She let her face crumple a little. "I mean, I guess they could have been headed for the morgue --?" She let her voice fall to a whisper, a distraught whisper.
The woman on the desk softened. "Look, I'll check again. And I'll call the morgue for you. But without ID on him, you still may not get a line on him." Quickly she checked her computer for admissions during the day. She also checked DOA's in the city. She shook her head. The only admission they had was a certified psychotic on the fourth floor where all the really violent cases were kept. While the basic statistics were comparable, there was no way that could be the man this nice young girl was looking for.
"I'm sorry. No luck. Maybe you need to check back with the police on this."
Terry sniffed bravely and nodded. "I will. Thanks." She walked out, the picture of dejection. She straightened as she neared the car. She climbed into the back seat. "OK. It's really weird. According to the desk, there's nobody there answering Ray's description. Are you sure this is where he was taken."
Micah looked at her, and through her, his eyes unfocussed. He nodded "He's here," he said in an odd tone. He could feel the other's presence in the area. He could feel the power pulsing just under the surface, the sorrow, the pain of the other's existence. He shook his head and pulled back into focus here. The knowledge deadened as he focussed on the two women with him. "He's definitely here. Who is he?" He ignored Siobahn's look of inquiry. He had told her the truth, he wasn't a talent. He didn't have a clue what was going on here.
"Ray. He's a tech roadie." She looked from him to Siobahn and back. "Honest, that's all I know. Well, and a functioning drunk. But whatever he is, he doesn't belong in here. -- Uh, in there," she nodded her head to indicate the hospital.
Micah's dark eyes stared into hers. He believed her. He nodded. "We need a plan. Back to my place for the moment. Will you be missed?"
"Missed? Me? Maybe. But they'll figure I'm looking for Ray, so it'll be a while before they start looking for me."
"Good. It may take some time to get him released."
They retired to Micah's apartment. Terry took charge of the kitchen while Micah called a few contacts for information. There had to be a way to get into the hospital and look for Ray. It was going to take them a while to find that way.
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