Page 1 of Natural-Born Cullers

PROLOGUE

Six Months Ago

Light sat on the couch by the patio doors, looking out at the pool. Keeping his movement soft, Simon got off the chair and went over. The guitar case slept close to Light’s feet, leaving Light with his legs pulled to him, almost recoiling from how close it slept. He hadn’t played it since killing Cath. He barely even seemed to glance its way these days either. It almost said that looking at that would let Brin’s ghost see what Light was planning. That Light knew it would hurt Brin.

Maybe that was something? A start of… feelingsomething. Anything since Light had lost Brin the way he had?

“Hey.” Simon kept his tone gentle as he crouched down, brushing a touch over Light’s fingers. Light was a literal thinker; he’d seen that with Gray, where everything needed to be given a face, a place on the table in front of Light to slow his head and heart down. But when he was lost to a drug, albeit one mostly fuelled by dark anger… that was when he didn’t see any faces. So this touch… it was Simon’s and his own literal language now. He’d overstep boundaries, just to remind Light he wasn’t alone.

Sometimes it worked, just sometimes, when a look would briefly come his way, a frown, once or twice even going to say something, but then he’d pull back into the quiet, into the same quiet he held now.

“Anything you want for the movie tonight? A beer?” Simon added gently. Light was allowed one on the weekend. This wasn’t about starving out the wrong done, mostly because Light didn’t hear the call to run with life like most, so his lockdown time here remained literal: subtle ties back to life that called him back into it through the good in life, even if he didn’t hear it just now.

There was nothing for a moment, then Light glanced back. Shook his head. Whatever he needed… wanted… he couldn’t voice it yet.

But that was okay.

Simon was patient.

He was happy to stay and watch every move Light made here in Gray’s manor.

And yeah, it was still there. How Light drew out the dark love in him, because he’d more than be happy to spend his days seeing how Light twisted into his touch behind locked doors and beyond.

The click of a lock came from the front door, and Simon eased to his feet after he packed the guitar away. He knew who it was. He’d gotten the call last night that Gray had come home. But he hadn’t disturbed Gray, not in the manor, not when he’d been away from Jack and Jan for so long.

Gray came in, giving a nod at Simon, and Simon backed away, going to his chair as Gray took off his suit jacket.

As Simon kept watch now, Gray took a seat on the couch, opposite Light, his look going out at the pool. After a moment it rested back on Light.

“University, year two,” Gray said evenly. “You take ten lectures a week here, each an hour long, starting at ten in the morning. With that, there’s two tutorials with completion of set work, two laboratory sessions between the hours of eleven ’til six in a designated lab in the manor, with a sub-study point of mathematics for chemistry back here.”

Light looked at Gray as he took out a book. Gray handed it over, and after a moment, Light took it with a frown.

Gray eased back, a stroke going to his lip. “You have two tutors: Professor Baseman from Oxford University, and me. Baseman will teach you textbook chemistry. I’ll teach you everything a textbook won’t.”

Something shifted in Light, a spark, an ease down of feet to floor and a lean closer to Gray. Nothing malicious in eye, just that shift of head towards the unknown, towards someone with older eyes, more experienced.

And Gray’s slight cock of smile saw it. “First lecture starts—” He looked at his watch. “—now.” He fixed a look on Light. “March 6, 1970, the Greenwich Village townhouse explosion. The New York collective of Weathermen grow tired of using Molotov cocktails, or the poor man’s bomb. They’re getting tired of using that because it’s having little physical damage. They want something bigger, better. So they take a fancy to dynamite. And put dynamite in a basement, along with two inexperienced bomb-makers, and what you have next is material for the next showing ofSeconds from Disaster…. Fifteen seconds from disaster: Robbins primes a simple circuit, but builds in no safety mechanisms….”

Light opened hisAnarchist’s Cookbookas Gray spoke. There were no games between them here. Gray knew Light looked for information on the cullers, and he’d bide his time to do it, humour Gray with staying here. Light saw Gray knew all that as well, so didn’t hide from him, knowing he lacked in certain areas where Gray didn’t. Both were chess players, both constantly re-evaluating goals. But there was something else too: the look off a son listening to a father.

So the frown came from Simon with how Gray taught Light now. Because he didn’t teach to stop a very talented mind from falling into boredom here.

He taught both sides of the coin to push Light to be the best at what he did if he ever did get free.

Why?

Because this was Gray’s offer of a father.

Yes, he’d do his job as field-marshal general now and protect his cullers from Light, but if Light ever got out—Gray looked damn set to make sure the cullers would never take down what was his.

Chapter 1

Jack Harrison

Present Day

The hard pelt of water from the showerhead stuttered a few times. Drenched, not ready to be left shivering into the bollocking cold, Jack squinted a look up.

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