Writing as N. D. Hansen-Hill...

"You look good."

She looked lousy, but Jim knew better than to tell her so. She was white and her eyes were watery from coughing. The dark circles underneath didn’t help much, either.

Still, it beat the blue colour she’d been when he’d pulled her out of the water. Or that dead white he’d seen outside the emergency room.

"Feeling great," she croaked.

Jim pushed the chair forward with his foot, then plopped into it. "Donna’s gonna come see you tomorrow. She would’ve come tonight, but Kirsten’s got the sniffles."

Chaz blew her nose loudly. "I can sympathise."

Jim grinned. "‘Better out than in’. Want a bucket? Maybe a big towel to hang under your chin?"

"You’re disgusting. Thank God Donna doesn’t know what you’re really like."

"Oh, she knows." He booted the bed. "Says she pities you, and that I’m only allowed to ‘inflict my company on you for fifteen minutes at a time’."

"She does know you," Chaz said tiredly.

Jim noticed. "My fifteen minutes’re up. I’ll report to Hollebeck that you’re feisty, but unfit."

She frowned. "Are you serious?"

"About the reporting? No." He grinned. "But maybe if I file one I’ll get paid for that gagworthy meal I just ate."

"Get out, Casavas." She smiled. "Tell Donna I can’t wait to see her—but to leave you at home." She added with a grin, "It always amazes me how a woman with so much taste found someone as tasteless as you."

"Hey, I’m not the only one who knows how to pick ’em. Hollebeck’s checking out your two-legged defibrillator."

She sat up abruptly, which started her coughing. She finally managed to choke out, "What?"

Jim pushed her back against the pillows. He’d been wondering how to bring it up. She needed to hear what had happened—and it was better coming from him. He sat down again. "Do you remember much?"

Her eyes darkened. "Delgado’s face. Air bubbles streaming past my head." Tears welled up in her eyes, and gooseflesh danced on her skin.

Casavas saw, and put a hand on her arm. "You were dead, Chaz. I could’ve sworn…" He sounded choked, and he gave her arm a squeeze. "I couldn’t find you at first—then, when I did—"

She laid a hand over his, in an effort to reassure him. "I don’t remember any of it."

"We—they—did CPR for twenty minutes, Chaz, before the helicopter got there. I rode back with you, so they could treat my hand."

She knew it wasn’t the only reason. He was her partner, and he’d gone with her as a mark of respect.

He looked at her—at the pasty lips and the white face. "Fuck it!" he said, pushing the bell for the nurse. "Sorry, Chaz," he muttered, fussing around. He tossed another blanket over her, then took off his jacket and plunked it onto her feet. "Sorry I said anything…"

She didn’t remember him leaving, but he must have hung around outside, because she was almost asleep when he came back in. "I’m sorry—" he began again.

"Tell me about—my ‘two-legged defibrillator’."

"Word is, he shot off lightning bolts all over the ER."

She thought he was kidding. "Lightning bolts?"

"Arcs or bolts, or whatever they’re called. He dove on top of you—" he chuckled at her expression, "—then proceeded to fry both your brains out. A real ‘shocker’, I heard. Whatever he did, it woke you up."

She lay there for a moment, staring at the wall but not really seeing it. "He was in a red robe."

"Yep. Bright red and dressed for action. Only action he got, though, was taking up where you’d left off. They managed to resuscitate him, but everything else they’ve done has backfired."

"Is Hollebeck going to drop it?"

Jim shrugged. "Maybe. Depends on what he finds out."

"I owe him."

"Hollebeck?" Jim grinned.

"Very funny."

"You don’t owe him any ‘action’, if that’s what you mean." Jim snickered.

"Tell Donna I pity her. Get out, Casavas."

"Gone." As he reached the door, he turned back. "By the way, I’m with you, Chaz—on the Leighton issue."

She looked at him blankly.

"The guy in the red robe." He hesitated, not wanting to upset her again. "Without his little energy blast, all that hot air I gave you would’ve been wasted. I owe him, too."

She smiled. "Jim—thanks. For everything."

"My pleasure," he told her lasciviously, wiggling his eyebrows. Then, grinning widely, he waved and went out the door.

*

Brandon took a generous swig, cleared his throat, then told Aje, "I had a talk with Angela."

Aje looked at him pityingly. "A lo-o-ng talk, I’ll bet."

"He’s been hit before," Brandon blurted.

Aje looked at him blankly.

Brandon frowned. "By lightning."

"Talk about your world’s records," Aje joked.

"Anyway, I was talking with his mom—" Jeez, this is hard, Brandon thought.

"You two’ve been getting pretty chummy since you played ‘rat droppings’ with Rita," Adrian commented. "People are beginning to talk."

Brandon looked at him dourly. "No people worth listening to."

"Go on. You were about to tell me how you’ve been nosing around in Nate’s business."

"There’re some things you should know."

"The biggest one being why one of his ‘friends’ is prying. Second one is why you’re narcing on him."

"I’m not telling anybody," Brand replied with some asperity.

"First, I’m not worth listening to. Then, I’m a nobody. You have no people skills."

"Shut up, Aje, and listen. Nate has real problems."

Aje sobered. "Not that I’ve noticed."

"Have you ever noticed he has no computer? Pretty weird for a scientist."

"Why should he? The labs must be full of ’em."

"No TV, no radio—that work, anyway. He’s the only person I know without a microwave."

Aje was silent, but his expression was grim, his eyes narrowed.

"It’s not because he’s poor," Brandon went on. "He has plenty of money floating around."

"Checked into that, too, did we?" Aje retorted sarcastically.

"What about his lights? And the way they’re always going out?"

"You said yourself it was a bad neighbourhood."

"But maybe not so bad for him…"

"How convoluted!" Aje’s voice was dripping sarcasm. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"That Nate knows he’s got a problem."

"If you mean he’s scared of electricity or something, it may be a little weird, but it’s not sick."

"I’m not talking phobias, Aje. Nate’s problems are bigger than that."

"So, he’s been struck by lightning twice. Wrong place, wrong time. Big deal." Adrian’s face was flushed, his eyes angry. "Did you ever think your policeman’s brain is making you read this all wrong? Maybe Nate’s house’s in one of those weird places where gravity or the magnetic field throws everything off—"

Brand looked at him shrewdly. "All I mentioned were the lights."

Aje frowned. "Is this the way you cops work? Picking apart everything anyone says?" He added, "No wonder they used to call detective-types ‘dicks’."

"Now there’s a reliable source!" Aje commented brightly. "So glad you questioned her." He lowered his voice. "Just to remind you—this is also the woman who named him Hubert."

"It’s serious, Aje!" Brand told him impatiently. "It’s not just the second time Nate’s been struck by lightning."

It was Aje’s turn to look impatient. "You said—"

"It’s the ninth."

*

"So, give me your best explanation, Doctor."

Damn the man. Adam Saracen had suspected nobody would let the incident rest. Wasn’t it enough for Hollebeck to know his agent was alive? Why did he have to pursue this into the ground?

For the tenth time, Saracen wondered how fate could have tossed things this way. Why did Leighton have to "help" the one person on hospital grounds who could draw the most attention to something he desperately wanted to hide?

Adam was suddenly glad he wasn’t working upstairs. He’d have had a difficult time controlling his curiosity where Leighton was concerned, or his resentment toward Ransford. He couldn’t believe the woman’s ingratitude. How could she dismiss what Leighton had done so lightly?

Just like he didn’t intend to tell Hollebeck now. Adam was incredibly curious about the source of Leighton’s energy, and he would have loved to discover whether it was internally generated, or more of a channelling exercise. But, there was no way he was going to follow up on it until Leighton was no longer the centre of attention.

The man had been in critical condition ever since he’d collapsed in the emergency room. He’d been so depleted that he’d gone into arrest, and they’d had to resuscitate him twice before they could move him. Once he was upstairs, they couldn’t monitor him properly, because he kept throwing off the machines.

Something about his chemistry was wrong, and his electrolyte balance was way off. When they’d tried to bring it into normal levels, he’d almost expired once more. He’d been in and out of coma for the past ten hours.

His family was really worried, but silent. There’d been an unending stream of visitors to the ICU, and not one had mentioned anything weird. Adam was just glad there’d been no repetition of the rat-mouse incident. Everyone on staff knew about it, and he wondered when Hollebeck was going to hear.

"Simple case of electrocution," Adam said. "That’s what’s going on the record."

Hollebeck looked at him shrewdly. "What record? Apparently, until he was blown off a mountain, Hubert Leighton had never been to a doctor."

"No medical history?" Adam couldn’t quite conceal his surprise. "No immunisations or ‘well-child’ checks?"

Hollebeck shook his head. "Not that we can find. Believe me, we’ve looked."

"What does his family say?"

"Just that he had all the ‘normal’ things done."

Adam considered it. Leighton’s records could be really important right now in determining treatment. If they were going to stabilise him, it would help if they didn’t have to rediscover the quirks in his physiology.

Hollebeck suspected the doctor was being deliberately evasive. What he couldn’t understand was why—unless Saracen thought what had happened in the ER would reflect badly on him. The family was another matter: "silence unto death" may well have been their motto. That’s what it was going to be, too, if Leighton didn’t get the appropriate treatment soon.

Leighton had, in some bizarre way, saved Chaz Ransford’s life. Saracen might not be reporting it that way, but the two nurses and the security man were.

Leighton lived on the fringe. He had a modern occupation, but few of the modern conveniences. Jim Casavas had been appalled at the lack of TV or stereo, toaster or microwave in his home. No modern conveniences, and half the lights out of commission. Jim had even suggested that Leighton must actually live somewhere else, and that this was some extension to his "lab".

The dung collection had really thrown him. Jim had called Hollebeck in personally to take a look. It seemed they were dealing with some weirdo with a particularly odd fetish.

Hollebeck had almost left it at that. Put it down to a series of bizarre circumstances that weren’t worth investigating. But Chaz had insisted that they do something to help the man out. In her mind, Leighton had given his life for hers—or nearly.

"I owe him," she’d said.

Which meant Hollebeck owed him, too—at least to the extent of rooting out his medical records. Something which would give his doctors a place to start.

Adam Saracen was still thinking things over.

Hollebeck waited patiently, but no suggestions were forthcoming. His lips quirked in what could have been a smile. "I was thinking about giving his mother our standard treatment for acquiring more information. You know—beating the soles of her feet with sticks, bamboo under the fingernails—not to mention ‘drug therapy’…"

Adam Saracen scowled at him.

"Some of Leighton’s friends were here for hours. I could ask one of them. See if he knows the name of Leighton’s doctor."

"With sticks and bamboo?" Adam’s lips creased in a smile. "No thanks. Might ruin my reputation."

Duncan Hollebeck grinned. "You’ll let me know what you come up with?"

Adam told him honestly, "No." He leaned back in his chair. "It’s on a ‘need to know’ basis only, Hollebeck. I’ll tell the people who need to know."

*

Brandon felt like a fool playing all these surreptitious games. He wondered if avoiding the people who were investigating Nate was the same as obstructing justice. If so, he’d overstepped the bounds.

Still, the doctor, Adam Saracen, had seemed to agree with him. He’d been damned surreptitious, too. "If you know anything about his medical records, or the name of his doctor…" he’d begun.

And Brandon had found himself volunteering. "I’ll do my best to find out," he’d said. Now, sitting here talking to Nate’s mum (this is Angela Leighton—not some kind of Mata Hari), he felt as though he’d entered the Twilight Zone.

"It was easy," she admitted, shrugging. "I just took Hubert into the receptionist’s office, where they kept the computer. One of my cousins lifted the hard copy."

"He shouldn’t have left home," she said now, upset. "But he was so set on being a scientist. I tried to tell him it wouldn’t work—that it would only get him into trouble."

"He was doing fine until the ‘accident’," Brand reminded her. "It must’ve been hard on him."

She nodded. "Not so hard now as it used to be, when he was a kid. As long as he stays on his meds he can get by." She looked worriedly at the clock. "He needs them, Brandon. They’ll never stabilise him without them."

"What ‘meds’?"

For the first time she wondered if she was making the wisest decision in telling him all this. She lowered her head, avoiding his eyes. "He thinks his liver doesn’t work right—that he needs medication."

"Angela, he must’ve figured out his electrical problems by now," Brand told her sarcastically. "He’s a smart guy."

"Which is probably why he lives in that hovel," she admitted. "But he thinks it’s limited to buzzy TVs and messed-up computers."

Brandon looked at her doubtfully. How could a guy get struck by lightning that many times—especially someone as smart as Nate—and not figure it out?

Angela told him earnestly, "He doesn’t know how bad it can get. And we never told him about all the lightning strikes." She looked slightly embarrassed. "He’d never remember much afterwards, so I let him think it was some kind of transient seizure, brought on by his liver trouble."

"Exactly." Misinterpreting his reaction completely, she flashed him a smile. "I told him he should have stuck to a mechanical field—that some people just can’t use computers. We never had TV or radio, so he really didn’t know what he was missing. He got that scientist idea from reading."

"He still doesn’t have TV—"

"Of course not," she said, as though he were being deliberately obtuse. "He interferes with them. Not even the meds can totally stop that." Her eyes darkened. "He learned pretty early that he couldn’t go visiting, like other kids." She added, a little bitterly, "Most of them preferred their TVs to his presence. I tried to make him believe that was normal, too, but I don’t think it helped." She sighed. "We tried everything—did all the reading we could on bioelectric fields and feedback. Gave him all kinds of ‘medicine’, just to see if something would work."

Brandon paled.

Angela didn’t notice. "Finally, my cousin came up with a mixture that seemed to help. After that, Hubert could sometimes go to school. It didn’t help with the lightning, though. After the fifth time he got hit, I used to keep him home whenever there was a storm warning." She smirked. "Or whenever someone got suspicious."

"Did he get to play football, or anything like that?"

She shook her head. "I wouldn’t let him. You can see why, can’t you, Brand? Why I didn’t want him to have too much contact with other people? To be labelled a ‘freak’? School was pretty safe because they didn’t know he was ‘special’. If he’d start to feel sick, they’d call me, and I’d adjust his medication. His electrolyte balance is still really sensitive, which makes it stupid for him to live alone." Her jaw shook, and Brandon knew she was close to tears. "He thinks he’s ‘normal’—but he could die so easily." Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she added, "I hated it when Hubert started taking those long hikes into the mountains. Teenagers do that kind of thing, but I didn’t know he was still into it. There’s not only the lightning, but …"

Brandon was no longer listening. He was thinking how it must have been for Nate, growing up with this woman—and her family. Everything hidden, and all those "adjustments" to whatever medication they’d come up with.

It also did a lot to explain Nate’s solitude. He’d probably learned a long time ago not to "inflict" his company on other people. Suspected in some way he’d be hazardous to either their health, or their prized possessions.

But, it didn’t stop the people from coming to Nate. Maybe it was because he’d been alone for so long, that he’d been forced to develop more personality to compensate. He was well-read, interesting, and could talk about anything. What got people the most, though, was Nate’s smile.

Now that he knew Nate’s background, that smile made Brandon feel as though he’d been gut-punched. Nate always found something to smile about, or joke about—something to enthuse over in the ordinary.

Maybe because he’d never had any "ordinary"—and he was just so glad to be alive, and away from everyone "protecting" him.

Angela was still talking. "…If I can get him his meds, they might put yesterday’s incident down to some stray electrical charge." She looked at Brandon a little desperately. "They’re watching me, Brandon. Closely. If Hubert doesn’t get this stuff, he’ll die."

"What’s in it?"

"Sodium and some metallic salts to balance his electrolytes. Otherwise, the electricity will start to burn him up, from the inside out."

"Like a short circuit."

She fidgeted nervously. "More like a short starting a fire."

Something else occurred to Brandon. If Angela was telling the truth, there was a good chance Nate didn’t know what was in his "meds". After so many years, he might assume they were something he needed for maintenance, the way some people needed insulin or thyroid pills. "Does Nate know what the meds do?"

"He thinks they stop the seizures," she said dismally.

Brandon must have looked as appalled as he felt, because she reacted defensively.

"What would you do, if he were your son? Tell him the truth? What do you think that would do to him?"

"Don’t you think—after last night—he may’ve figured it out?" He tried to imagine how Nate was going to feel about all this, when he woke up.

"If he doesn’t get his meds, he’ll die," she insisted.

Nate grinning, and offering them a snack. Fixing it in an old gas oven, because he couldn’t use a microwave. Joking about Aje’s Playstation games, when he’d probably never even seen one.

No TV. No radio. Nothing but long nights with his books and his fungus—and the lights popping off all around him.

Yet the idiot still smiled. Thought he was lucky, to have gotten as far as he had.

"I’ll do it," Brandon said.

*

Aje had been angry for hours. It didn’t help that he was tired. Tired always made him irritable. God knows he hadn’t slept much since Nate’s escapade in the mountains. He’d been too worried about the damn fool.

He thought about all the hours he and Brandon had spent with Nate. How the man had lied to them—taken them in. Was there anything about him that was real?

Brandon’s words: No TV. No stereo. No microwave.

And so ballsy he’d even take on a policeman. He wondered if it had given Nate as much gratification to mislead Brand, as it did Aje to insult him.

The thing that ate at him most was Brandon’s warning, that Nate might be lethal, given the right—or wrong—circumstances. Circumstances being lightning storms, or any time he was set on "surge". Brandon hadn’t been able to tell him exactly when those times were—but, he’d had his information straight from Nate’s mom.

Nate had never said a thing to warn them. Never indicated that it might be a good time to bail, because his ions were getting a little overeager. Never cared whether he was being hazardous to his so-called friends’ health.

Now some government people were after him, and Aje had been warned by Brand to "watch his step". It just gets better and better. As Nate’s friend, he might inadvertently be involved.

Aje felt the wariness most people do when confronted by a government agency: he was caught somewhere between ridicule and respect. All he knew for certain was that he didn’t want them focusing on one Adrian Morton. He couldn’t help but recall all the times he’d fibbed on his tax forms, or run a red light. Knowing surveillance was a possibility, made it suddenly a probability, and expanded the time frame. How long had he known Nate? Years. What the hell had Leighton done to invite a government agency into all their lives?

Whatever it was, Aje didn’t want anything to do with it.

Aje picked up the book he’d bought for Nate—before his early-afternoon discussion with Brand. That was one thing about Nate: he always appreciated a good book. Next to his fungus, his mini-library was his most prized possession.

More lies. Aje angrily snapped the volume closed, then threw it furiously at the wall. The spine broke, and pages went sliding across the floor. Aje’s jaw tightened at the destruction. If he’d felt like a fool before, he really felt like one now.

I could’ve returned it, he thought. Too late.

Everyone knew that once things were broken, there was really no way to put them back the way they were before.

Aje stomped out, and closed the door with a decisive click.

*

"I need your help."

"Don’t you have a police force you can call on?" Aje replied.

He wasn’t much happier with Brandon right now than he was with Nate. There are times when ignorance is bliss. All that Brand’s warning about the Feds had done was make Aje see people tailing him at every intersection.

"This is serious."

"First my day, now my week. Get lost, Weisner—"

Brand was silent.

Aje stared down at his phone, wishing he could toss it and all the day’s revelations out the window.

"What?" It sounded surly, even to him.

"Meet me—"

"Hate to have to remind you, but I’m heterosexual."

Brandon grinned. Aje was beginning to get his sense of humour back. "So am I. It’s no excuse."

"What d’you want, oh Grim and Morbid One?"

"To give a helping hand to a friend, Aje."

It was Aje’s turn to be silent. Brandon was about to hang up when Aje came back on the line. "Are you sure about this?" All traces of humour were gone from his voice.

Brandon sighed. "Yeah," he said. "I blew it. There’s a ‘situation’, but I understand it a whole lot better now."

Aje smiled for the first time in hours. "Nice to know you can extenuate the circumstances."

"Hey—let’s be positive. At least you won’t be feeling guilty alone."

"I wanta make sure I have this right. Are you actually admitting you made a mistake? A ‘boo-boo’?"

"First time ever."

"Don’t tell me: that’s why you didn’t recognise it. Such humility deserves a reward. I’m buying—"

"Just try to remember you said that when they bring you the tab."

*

"You’re out of your mind! How could he not know?"

"Nate thinks he gets seizures—that the medicine controls it."

"What does it really do?"

"Brings him into chemical balance—so he doesn’t burn himself up."

"Like one of those people who self-immolates?" Aje sounded horrified.

Brandon shook his head. "I don’t know. The way I heard it, he saved someone’s life in the ER. A woman who turned out to be a Fed."

"Talk about your boo-boos."

Brandon’s grin flickered. "He put on some kind of electrical show—arcs and lightning bolts. Warned everyone to stay back, then fried her and himself. Brought her back from the dead—"

At Aje’s shocked expression, Brandon nodded. "Yeah, they were about to call it. Anyway, what worked for her nearly burned him out. His heart stopped twice, right in the ER. They got him going, but that’s why he’s back in ICU." Brandon took a small vial out of his pocket. "These are his ‘meds’. His twisted family’s been giving him this stuff for years, just to control him. He doesn’t know any better, Aje. He takes it, just like a diabetic would insulin."

Aje looked shocked—and sick. Sick enough, in fact, that he excused himself and disappeared to the Men’s room. When he came back, a couple of shades paler, Brandon remarked. "Didn’t know you were so sympathetic. What would you have done if it’d been a syringe?"

Aje grunted.

Brandon shook the vial, watching the glints through the glass. "No telling exactly what’s in it, but it seems to keep him from ‘burn-out’. Angela thinks that’s what happened in the ER. His system went into overload." Brand added, "She also swears if he doesn’t get the stuff soon, he’ll die."

"What about the electrical problem? Don’t tell me he hasn’t figured it out."

"He must know about the interference. Hell, look at his lights. But ‘Mom’ insists that’s all he knows. She also says there’s no danger unless someone’s with him outside, during a thunderstorm." Brandon had to clear his throat before he went on. He lowered his voice. "Nate’s so scared of them that he hides in a closet, or under a desk, until it’s over."

Aje remembered a time he’d gone to visit Nate at work. Nate had claimed he was searching for a slide he’d dropped, under the desk. There’d been a weird look in his eyes, though, that he hadn’t quite been able to disguise. Now Aje knew it for what it was: terror.

"He thinks he’s been hit twice. The other times, the family put it down to ‘seizures’."

"If he didn’t know what he was capable of, he wouldn’t have warned them to stay back," Aje reminded him. "In the ER."

"Unless Nate felt it coming on." Brandon looked at his hands. "The security guard said he was screaming and writhing—like he was in some kind of agony—"

"Oh, shit—" Aje buried his face in his hands.

"Nate’s gonna die unless he gets this stuff. It may be no good in the long term, but it’s what he needs right now. For all we know, he’s a junkie on this shit, and withdrawal’s putting added strain on his system."

"You can’t just give it to him."

Brandon frowned. "It’s decided, Aje. Seems to me it’s worth the risk. I just need you for distraction."

"Method?"

"What?"

"How the hell’re you gonna give it to him? Intravenously?"

"Fuck."

"Yeah. We’re fucked. You can’t expect an unconscious man to drink it."

"I wonder if Nate’s family runs to medical types—"

"Only lunatics and morons. It’s time, Mr. Cop, to dig up someone else we can trust."