Crucible of Fear

by D. W. Whitlock

  It grated on his frayed nerves.

  Gail lay next to him, her breathing soft and deep. He envied her. Behind closed eyes the hand lay waiting for him, twitching on the carpet. Along with the not entirely unpleasant odor of cauterized flesh thick in the air. Gary would never eat ham again.

  His eyes slid shut.

  The hand was still warm as he picked it up by its finger, heavier than he thought it would be. He couldn’t remember running out of there, just found himself on a large red H in the middle of a helipad.

  A rapid chopping sound from above caused his spine to ratchet up tight as he gazed skyward. The large dragonfly drone descended and Gary crouched, holding the black box up like it was a serving platter.

  The hand shifted inside.

  He squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to see that horrible thing descend toward him with its shiny green body, the tail curling down as it hovered. The click of its thin legs tapping on the box made him cringe and he almost cried out when one touched his wrist.

  The weight of the box disappeared and only then did he gaze upward. The dark silhouette of the drone shrank against the night sky before shooting off and out of sight.

  Gary bent over and retched, placing his forehead against the warm surface of the landing pad. Sweat poured off him as he heaved, sliding down his face before dripping off. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath but he had to go, escape before building security came back on. Only five minutes to get out. Lurching to his feet, he stumbled back inside.

  The elevator ride down had been the longest of his life.

  Throwing his legs over the edge of the bed, Gary peered into the dim rectangle of the open doorway yawning before him. Nightmarish images of that night danced across the darkness.

  He stood and went to the bathroom, easing the door shut before flicking on the light. Gary wanted his wife to sleep, but he also hoped she’d wake up. Being alone with this terrible secret, one that could destroy all their lives if anyone else knew was crushing him. He couldn’t tell her, of course, but at least he wouldn’t be alone. Splashing cold water on his face did little to calm the knot in his stomach.

  “Get it together,” he said to the bleary-eyed man in the mirror. “You got a job interview tomorrow.”

  The house temperature remained at a solid seventy-eight. The twins were sleeping through the night. No more mystery deliveries, no more blips of the alarm.

  No more texts.

  Everything was back to normal, like it had never happened. Gary hadn’t seen another drone since that night on the helipad. But the last text he’d received had run right through him like a cold knife.

  Would that feeling ever go away? he wondered.

  The light went off with a click and Gary sat on the edge of the bed again. Gail didn’t even stir. He picked up his phone from the nightstand. Tapping on the screen, he brought up the final text from Dark Messiah. With a flick of his fingertip, he sorted through each of the images embedded within the body of the text.

  Videos of the kids running at the park, wrestling on the carpet, sleeping in their cribs, the video tinted green by the baby monitor camera. Gail driving to work, sitting at her desk, having lunch with a man he didn’t recognize. The last image was especially unnerving, him putting his cursed Adirondacks out at the curb next to the trash cans. The message was clear, but the following text at the very bottom drove the point home.

  Dark Messiah is watching you.

  CHAPTER 60

  Digital Handshake

  “Good morning, Dante. I’m Dr. Arellano, but you can call me Alexis. Ready to start your rehabilitation?”

  Alexis was slender, about forty or so, short black hair pulled back into a pony tail. She wore a long white coat over teal scrubs.

  “I guess so,” Dante said.

  The plastic cuff eased off into her gloved hands, the blue light winking off as she unplugged the cable. She placed the cuff on a tray, then wound up the cable with tight efficiency.

  “Looking good. See?” She gently raised Dante’s arm.

  He glanced at the bright pink flesh along the suture lines before looking away.

  “It gets easier,” Alexis said, dark eyes smiling. She lifted a pant-leg cuff, revealing a prosthetic foot. Dante gazed down in surprise before she let it drop. She pulled her gloves off with a snap and dropped them into a trash can. “What would you say your pain level is?”

  “Not bad. About a two, I guess.” He grimaced, grabbing his wrist. “Just went up to a seven.”

  “Phantom pains? There’s medication you can try. It’s helped me.”

  Dante took a few deep breaths before shaking his head. “No more meds. I’m going to be hooked on opiates as it is.” He flexed his arm. “How has it healed so fast?”

  “We used therapies similar to your toe amputation but with one a major difference.”

  “Oh yeah? How’s that?” Dante asked.

  “There are five main nerves in the arm. During surgery, I mapped each one to a spot on the flap used to cover the amputation. It’s called sensory reinnervation. If you rub a finger over them, it’ll feel pretty strange, but this will allow for a direct interface with the prosthetic you’ll be receiving. We’ve partnered with a prosthetic company who specializes in hands. They’re probably the best in the world and they’re right here on site. If you agree, you’re about to be fitted with their latest and greatest prototype. And let me tell you, this is no metal hook. I think you’ll find the experience to be…interesting. Let’s go take a look, okay?”

  The stern looking police officer outside his room joined them as they walked down the hall to the elevator. Probably wondering what he’d done to pull this shit duty. As they ascended, Dante used his left hand to text Kelly with his thumb. It was slow going and he only dropped his phone once. Alexis either didn’t notice, or pretended not to. The cop kept his eyes straight ahead.

  Kelly texted him back and told him everything was fine and yes, Abigail was doing her homework. The policemen were fans—one knew every episode of Catwalk. She ended the text with a laugh emoji.

  Dante felt a touch of jealousy.

  They went down the hall to a door marked Rehabilitation Center and Alexis pushed it open. The officer stayed outside, mouth set in a grim line.

  The rehab room was a large, open space with pale green walls and dark wood laminate flooring. There was a pair of wood walking rails, a set of steps, ramps, treadmills, mats, exercise balls and an above-ground hot tub. A table nearby had a mirror mounted down the center.

  “What’s with the table?” Dante said.

  “Mirror therapy. Helps with phantom pains,” Alexis said. “I’ll show you how to use it later.”

  Along the left wall was a long table sporting prosthetic legs of various styles and builds. There were curved metal blades for running, others were metal tubes extending from a black plastic socket to an articulated foot inside a shoe. The selection of legs further down appeared very high tech, brushed metal tubes and carbon fiber with red metallic accents.

  An older woman reclined in the tub, head barely visible above the bubbling surface of the water, pepper gray hair slicked back. She opened one brilliant green eye and gave Dante a quick glance before closing it again.

  “Don’t leave me in here too long Lexi,” the woman said.

  “You’re supposed to be relaxing, Celia. Remember?”

  “How can I relax with you two jaw jacking?” Celia said

  “C’mon,” Alexis said, laughing. “We’re over here.”

  Dante followed her to the other side of the room. Along the entire wall was a frosted glass office, the gray panel next to the door glowing red. Etched on the door in silver letters were the words: Plexus Voltaic. Soft, dark shapes were visible inside.

  Alexis badged in and stepped aside, following Dante as the door closed behind them. Soft light bloomed overhead. Along the back wall, an advanced looking 3D printer spanned the width of the room, various nozzles and arms visible through the clear panel on
its face.

  A table with two vertically mounted hand prostheses stood to the right. The first one was a typical metal hook type, the forearm socket made from age-stained wood. The claw was dull with patina and checked with rust. A tall glass dome enclosed it over a wooden base. “Break glass in case of Luddites” was engraved on a brass strip along the bottom.

  “This… is the past,” Alexis said as she walked ahead of him and turned, motioning to the other arm mounted there. “And this… is the future.”

  The other prosthetic was a hand and wrist mounted to an arm socket. The bottom edge of the socket extended all the way to the elbow. The hand and fingers were a matte black. Rubber pads were on the tip of each finger with a larger pad across the palm. The finger joints gleamed brushed metal silver.

  “What do you think?” Alexis said.

  “Cool,” Dante said. “Bionic?”

  “Neuroprosthetic. The evolution of myoelectric prosthetics controlled by muscle contraction. Myoelectrics can only perform simple hand poses, usually open and close. This one is different. The secret is through its interaction. The reinnervation procedure will allow you to not only move this hand, but also feel temperature and pressure as well. You’ll actually feel contact with objects. It also uses machine learning to improve its function based on how you interface with it. Like I said… the future.”

  “I’m guessing my insurance doesn’t cover this.”

  “No, it’s a prototype, worth about three million. Military grade, which means it’s tough. And strong. We’ve been waiting for the right subject. We think that’s you.”

  “Why not use someone in the military?” Dante said. “Must be plenty of…subjects.”

  “The government won’t pay for this level of rehabilitation. Not even close. If this arm could be weaponized, though, I’m sure they’d be all for it.”

  “I see,” Dante said.

  “The only thing we ask in return is the data generated during use for application to future prosthetics.”

  Dante narrowed his eyes as he looked at the hand, its fingers slightly curved. “No way.”

  “This isn’t like the Caduceus that maimed your foot,” Alexis said. “Not even close.”

  “You know about that?”

  “It can’t be hacked, at least not remotely. No wireless. The only way to interface is behind this locked panel.”

  Alexis rotated the arm and pointed to a small panel on the back of the hand with a recessed lock.

  “You don’t even have the key. I visit once a week, hook it up to a secure laptop, download the data and apply any updates. This is about to become an extremely competitive market and we are very strict with security. At least try it first. It should help with those phantom pains as well. If you don’t like it, no problem. You can go with ol’ woody down there in the glass case.”

  Dante gazed at the hand, touching various parts, bent one of the fingers. He thumbed the panel but it stayed closed, the lock holding tight.

  “Okay,” he said. “Let’s give it a shot.”

  Dante winced as Alexis slid the newly minted socket onto his arm, still warm from the printing process. After a laser scan and a fourteen-point tissue compliance measurement along his entire arm, the 3D printer began the process of layering a composite of materials together. The new socket was tailor-made, firm or flexible based on the soft or bony parts of his forearm. The stump was still tender, but the socket itself slipped on easily and fit well. Flexible straps crisscrossed his inner elbow and curved around the back. He flexed his arm to get a feel for it.

  It felt good. Solid. Even without a hand on it yet.

  Alexis brought a black box over and set it on the table between them. She lifted the lid and removed a small silver cylinder.

  “The battery,” she said. “It’ll last a week and takes five minutes to charge. Graphene. Nobody has these yet. Going to change everything.”

  She bent his arm at the elbow and pressed a button on the underside. A hatch opened up and she snapped the battery into place and closed the hatch again with a click.

  “Now comes the fun part.”

  Alexis reached into the box and withdrew a new hand similar to the one Dante had seen earlier. Dangling from the bottom was a clutch of small sensors, tipped in gold. There were five in all.

  “This next part is going to feel a little weird. When I plug it in, the sensors will align to the nerve map, interface, then run a diagnostic. The hand will then enter a short learning phase. When I say, try and move your fingers, one at a time, starting with your thumb. Ready?”

  Dante nodded. Alexis lifted the hand, inserted it into the socket and twisted it forty-five degrees until it snapped into place with a muffled clunk. It immediately jumped to life and began curling and flexing several times.

  Dante flinched as the sensors found his nerves with a series of mild shocks. Each finger straightened and curled in turn before relaxing into a natural rest pose.

  “Go ahead. Whenever you’re ready,” Alexis said.

  Dante wiggled his thumb and the hand responded, but with a noticeable lag. He tried again and the thumb jerked to life much quicker, responding faster and smoother until it almost felt right. He wiggled his fingers and they went through the same adjustment until they rotated smoothly in turn, little motors whirring. He rotated his hand and the prosthetic rotated in kind.

  Dante glanced at Alexis and grinned. “That weird phantom feeling. It’s gone.”

  “Up top,” she said, holding a palm up.

  Dante raised his new hand and slapped it against Alexis’ palm and he gasped.

  “I felt that!” he said, running his left hand over the prosthetic.

  “It only works on the finger and palm pads, but you’ll be able to tell hot and cold, pressure and feedback when you touch something. Helps for picking up small objects. Speaking of which...”

  Alexis reached into the box and removed a tray holding a series of small cubes and spheres of different sizes and materials. Some were shiny metal, others rough or smooth, some wood, and some were squishy. “For practicing. Try one,” she said.

  “I have another idea,” Dante said, flexing the fingers again. There was a slight lag still, but it felt worlds better than a stump. He extended his hand, fingers splayed wide. She smiled and slipped her hand into his.

  “Easy,” she said. “Like I said, it’s strong.”

  He eased the pressure and they shook.

  “Thank you, Alexis,” Dante said, eyes bright. “I never thought I’d shake someone’s hand ever again.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said, blinking back tears of her own.

  Loud splashing erupted from the rehab room and they hurried out of the small office. Celia was trying to climb out of the hot tub, slender arms thrashing about.

  “Hey Lexi!” she called out. “Quit making eyes over there and get me out of this stupid tub!”

  CHAPTER 61

  Westfall

  Abigail lay curled up next to Dante in the hospital bed, her breathing soft and even. He swept a lock of hair back from her face then gazed down at Kelly where she lay sleeping in a cot next to the bed. When she’d come in earlier with Abigail, Kelly was pushing the cot in on its wheels, no discussion. Was she here just for Abigail? She must be, but Dante was glad she was here.

  The room was dark, lit only by the soft glow from mercury vapor lights that bled in through the slotted blinds. A traffic signal across the street rotated through its cycle, painting the walls in a faint green, then yellow, then red. Dante reached out and picked up the plastic cup holding his pain meds then tipped it to his lips. He swallowed the large, white pills with a chase of water, all using the prosthetic hand.

  Dante smiled. He was getting the hang of it.

  Laid out before him on the bed table were the training objects Alexis had given him. He squeezed one of the rubber cubes, the hand whirring, then placed it back on the table. He grasped a wooden block next and rubbed his finger over a series of grooves cut into
the surface. It wasn’t like feeling exactly, more like subtle vibrations. Alexis told him it would feel more natural as his brain adjusted to the sensory input. Neuroplasticity, she called it, the brain’s ability to adjust to changes and remap parts to account for physical changes to the body or the brain itself.

  His phone buzzed, sliding across the table before he lifted it to his ear.

  “Dante Ellis,” he said, voice low.

  Silence.

  “Hello?”

  Clicks followed by a faint hiss, then a far-off voice, mechanical and distorted. Dante pressed the phone to his ear. The voice spoke again, louder this time.

  “I need to talk to you but we don’t have much time. In person if possible.”

  A fierce heat burned in Dante’s gut and he gripped the phone tighter. “I’d love to meet you in person Skylar, so I can smash your fucking head in.”

  “I know who’s doing this,” Skylar said.

  “Dark Messiah,” Dante hissed. “That’s you, right? Real cute.”

  Skylar sighed. It was a clipped, electronic sound. “I understand why you’re angry but I can help you. I tried to before, in the parking garage remember? Bothrops Asper. If you’d just put that flash drive in.” There were more clicks and a low boop. “Shit. Time’s up. I’ll try and contact you again soon.”

  Skylar disconnected and Dante lowered the phone. It vibrated again and he connected.

  “Anything?” he said.

  “Nothing,” Bouchard said. “The call was encrypted and he wasn’t on long enough. We’ll get him next time.”

  “Who the hell is this guy?”

  “We’re working on it.” Boucher hung up.

  Dante tossed his phone on the table where it landed with a loud clack. He checked to see if he’d woken the girls, then slipped the prosthetic hand off, and laid it on the table. The oxycodone began kicking in as he curled up next to Abigail, glad this was his last night here.

  Bothrops Asper. That was the second time Skylar had said that. Dante reminded himself to do a search on it as he drifted off to sleep.