Free The Malice by Peter Newman

mask, which the doctor removes, equally smooth.
    Massassi coughs, then accepts the water offered by the doctor. A genuine frown appears on her face as she looks at the formless sheet covering her body. ‘I’ve still got my arm. I can feel it.’
    Supervisor and doctor glance at each other. The doctor clears her throat. ‘I’m afraid that’s a common misconception. Your brain is so convinced the limb is still there, it fabricates sensation.’
    ‘I can see it.’
    ‘You want to see it? Well, if you’re sure.’
    The doctor pulls back the sheet.
    A plastic cap is fixed to her shoulder, running all the way to her right hip. Her left wrist is fixed to the bed. There is no tie for her right wrist. There is nothing there to attach it to. Despite this, she smiles. ‘There it is … what did you do to my arm? It’s … beautiful.’
    Another glance is shared. They both retreat to the other side of the room, whispering.
    ‘Perhaps this was too soon.’
    ‘I did try and warn you.’
    ‘We’ll try again the next time she wakes. If her condition persists, it may actually work in our favour. How long before you can certify her?’
    ‘Normally, a month but, given the circumstances, we can come to an arrangement, I’m sure.’ The doctor returns to the pod. ‘Lie back, you can rest again now. This will get easier, I promise.’
    Massassi does not relax. She sees the spark of thought appear in the doctor’s essence, the desire to silence her. ‘I’m not crazy, my arm is right here. Look!’
    ‘Yes,’ her supervisor says, adopting an expression of polite pity. ‘That’s good, that’s very good. You’ll be back to work soon, I know it.’
    Drugs are authorised, dulling pain, dulling sense.
    ‘No!’ she screams, glaring at the space where her arm once was. At first, they do not see the luminescence, thin as bone, following the line of a lost limb. Then it brightens, thickens, light intensifying, hardening, like silvered diamond. Compared to the light she sees in their faces, her arm glows with a star’s fury.
    Now they see it, falling back in their fear, legs scrabbling like a spiders on the slick floor.
    With her shining fingers, she tears through the bonds on her left wrist and jumps from the bed. Weak muscles cannot manage the sudden demands and she falls.
    For a moment the two adults relax, though they continue to back away.
    Massassi extends her arm. One tug is all it takes to slide her over to them. She touches the doctor first. Silver fingers press against flesh, passing through to touch the soft light within. She does not mean to kill, but the action is too quick and anger-fuelled. The bubble of the doctor’s essence bursts, burns and is gone.
    Like a doll, the doctor’s body flops over onto the floor.
    ‘I need immediate assistance in here!’ shrieks the supervisor. Suddenly, he remembers his authority, realises that a single command will shut her down. Before he can give it, however, Massassi reaches out and touches his ankle, and through it, his soul.
    In the supervisor’s mind, she finds thoughts, treacherous. She squeezes them between finger and thumb, molds them anew.
    Footsteps pound down a corridor. Burly men burst through the door. Inside, they find a dead doctor, a maimed, unconscious girl and a man on his knees, weeping.
    ‘You called us, sir?’
    The supervisor gives a broken nod. ‘I was responsible for the accident. It was my fault. I thought I could bury it. I didn’t know the girl would wake up and tell the doctor the truth. So you see, I had to silence them. I killed the doctor first and I was going to kill the girl but then I wondered, where would it end? I’m sick. Sick in the head! You need to take me away. You need to process me.’
    The men are so intent on the supervisor’s ravings that they do not see Massassi’s smile.

CHAPTER FIVE
    Behind its wings, an eye twitches, restless. Vesper watches it, desperate for it to open and give guidance. She feels the group looking at