Mississippi Princess
He walked around the cold medical table, the shiny steel on which she lay reflecting the bright light overhead. Standing close he watched as the mechanics churned and the table slowly tilted and she was held upright, the bindings around her chest, wrists and feet holding her in place, suspended and strapped, held up for inspection.
Her hair naturally fell about her face, the white bangs sweeping forward hiding the heavy eyelids that flittered in a disturbed sleep. He reached out unsure at first, until the assured sound of her breathing staid his hand and he gently tucked the forlorn locks in behind her ears. She couldn’t have been more than 16.
He noted the tag she wore around her neck, a thin piece of plastic, with a small label, peering close he read the short inscription, ‘Mississippi Princess,’ puzzled he turned to the other man in the room.
Sat behind his computer, his thin face framed by horn rimmed glasses, he looked up and smiled, the tapping of computer keys the only sound resonating in the vault. He stood up at last and came to stand beside her. It was a miserable place, the deep dank space he used as his lab, bare brick stone walls, low domed ceiling various surgical instruments stacked clinically and neatly on sterilised tables to one side of the room.
Remarkable what science can teach, to save life and to perform miracles or to sustain misery, to fortify pain, to suspend existence, strapped to a steel gurney, pawed and viewed as an asset. He was a scientist, and a businessman, whichever would come first was dependant on the profession that proved the most profitable.
And she was going to prove profitable, the fact that he already a client here within barely a few days of circulating the rumour that he had a outstanding specimen ready for the right money, was proof of that.
‘Mississippi Princess… and what’s with the bangs?’ along came the inevitable question, it was what struck everybody who saw her, that beautiful two tone hair of hers. He smiled once more, his white coat ruffling as he leaned forward, his features made all the harsher by the bright light they were stood under.
‘She’s from Caldecott, Mississippi,’ he reached out and took the white bangs as in between his fingers, ‘the hair it’s her crowning glory, don’t you think?’ He smiled widely, ‘you can believe me when I tell you she’s very special, hence the name, a proper little princess.’
‘Really?’ The customer raised a sceptical brow, ‘And how did I know you were going to say that.’ He nodded seeming to contemplate his next move, not wanting to appear too eager, ‘So what’s so special about her, I assume she has powers that would prove useful?’
The older man laughed, ‘Well much like my ex-wife and her shark of a lawyer, she will bleed you dry.’
That had him interested, his eyes snapped to the cold ones of the doctor’s, ‘How…?’
‘Simple, skin on skin contact means she will absorb memories, your life essence, the very air you breathe right out of your lungs. And if her unlucky victim happens to be another mutant, she’ll take their powers as well.’
To his surprise the younger man scoffed, ‘you don’t expect me to buy that, I touched her barely a minute ago, nothing happened.’
Pushing his glasses further up his nose, he sighed allowing for the scepticism, shaking his head he approached the client slowly, ‘That was hardly a touch, here let me show you…!’ With a sudden haste that belied his age, he grasped the younger man firmly by the wrist pulling down the sleeves of his coat and shirt exposing his hand, the bare skin.
The doctor grappled as the unsure client struggled, but pulling him closer he pressed the flat of his palm against her cheek. He held it there, flush against the pale skin of her face, holding it firmly in place.
The young man’s eyes grew wide, his bug eyed expression unsure and afraid. The doctor’s grip was proving too strong, and he was waiting for an eternity for something to happen…, but nothing did. He smiled in triumph at the doctor, sighing in relief and almost laughing out loud to spite the confident look peering out beneath the older man’s distinct glasses.
And then he felt it, the inscrutable pain, the sensation of burning, of his chest contracting, every muscle being pulled apart, every fibre of his being pulled in the one direction, through his palm, through his fingers, flowing out of him and into her, where his skin met hers, where the contact was made his life was slowly ebbing away, being sucked dry.
His bug eyed expression returned, his mouth fell open to mouth a silent scream he seemed to have no strength to make, he began to shake and his head fell back, a wistful darkness taking over.
Satisfied he had made his twisted point at last, the doctor consented to release him at last, and pulling his hand away from her he let him drop to the ground. The poor young man clutched his hand tight against his chest, breathing deeply, inflating his lungs once more, glad to be clinging to life still.
‘Hold onto her long enough and she’ll kill you.’ He knelt down next to him and offered him a conciliatory smile. ‘But lucky for you I’ve got just the thing to help you keep that under control.’
The doctor held up a thick syringe, filled with a dark liquid he held it under the fallen man’s eyes before heading straight for the girl. Pulling her head back roughly by the hair, snapping hr head against the steel of the gurney, he exposed the long column of her neck and peering intently for a while plunged the sharp needle directly into her jugular neck.
Emptying the whole vial into her, he tilted her head to one side allowing the client the perfect view, as the wound on her neck seemed to glow, just underneath the skin a small lump had appeared, something jutted out of skin, the slightest raised bump that seemed to blink with a red light.
In the same instant the doctor smiled and tapped against the foreign object, now permanently etched into her soul. ‘An inhibitor chip…’
He smiled, as a heavy briefcase was handed to him, almost laughed as he inspected the contents, she had proved very profitable indeed.
But her eyes, those long suffering eyes flitted wildly, struggling against a blackness that would not end, and she screamed, silent screams that echoed in her mind, sounds that would not form against shuttered lids.
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