My legs moved on their own, dropping me less than gently into the seat. Forced to look at Madeline around her girthy computer, I couldn’t help but notice a complete lack of personalization in what must’ve been her office—no knick-knacks, no framed photos, not even a fast-food toy of a favorite animated character.
Never taking her eyes off mine, she clacked furiously on her keyboard for a moment. “I assume you know why you’re here,”she said, voice a soothing purr. She twisted in her seat, reaching behind her to a particularly toad-like printer. It belched sheets of paper in a stinking cloud. Madeline grabbed a few, waving them in the air to dispel the stench. She squinted before tapping the stack on her desk and setting it down, folding her hands across it.
“No,” I said, so stunned and terrified that any other thought evaporated. My brain held only those two letters rattling back and forth like a caged monkey slowly losing the will to fight.
Madeline offered me a reassuring smile, her yellow teeth alarmingly sharp in the dull light, too many points overlapping each other to make human sense. In a blink, they were Chiclet-straight and uniform, a normal shade of off-white for a woman who most likely didn’t smoke or drink black coffee without a slice of gum nearby.
“That’s okay,” she said. “We’ll make sure it’s crystal clear in the contract before you sign.”
“No?” I couldn’t turn away from her to glance over my shoulder, to look around the room. I could only stare deeper into her watery gaze, could only take in the piecemeal parts of her the computer tower didn’t block. Panic fluttered against my ribs, a delicate, frightened creature unafraid to scratch and bite its way free. And still, I couldn’t move, as if my body had cut off all communication with my brain.
“Trust me, Miss Marina.” Madeline reached for the toad-like printer again, this time not bothering to check but instead stretching a blind hand behind her, expertly snagging the rest of the papers from the tray. She set them on top of the last batch, returning her folded hands to the top. “The contract willmake it clear, and youwillsign.”
My fingers fumbled with the sudden object in my hand. I didn’t need to look to recognize the ballpoint pen that I hadn’t brought with me.
“No.” I sighed, defeated and embarrassed. I couldn’t defend myself, couldn’t protest, couldn’t explain to this strange, demonic woman that I wasn’t going to sign shit—never mind whatever twisted game she was playing.
Adjusting her glasses, Madeline picked up the first page from the stack of papers between us and began to read.
“On this 287thday of the 2,205thcycle, the wronged party, heretofore referred to as The Witch, and the wrongdoer, heretofore referred to as The Bitch?—”
She paused here and looked up at me meaningfully before continuing, “—enter into a Contract of Amends, willingly and of sound mind . . .” She muttered to herself, eyes scanning the rest of the page rapidly before heaving a put-upon sigh and waving a beleaguered hand through the air.
My heart slammed in my chest, shoulders sagging as my mind raced with all the thoughts that had been dammed for the last few moments. I had to consciously will myself not to throw up at the overwhelming sensations as I gasped for air.
“Dramatic.” Madeline rolled her eyes. “Where were we?—”
“I’m not signing that,” I spat out, flexing and unflexing my hands against my thighs as I tried to discreetly scan the room for another exit.
“You will.” She held up a finger, cutting me off before I could protest. “Once you hear the terms, you’ll sign.”
Madeline droned on, continuing through the dense legal language in a monotone voice. So far, I didn’t recognize anything too strange other than the quirky opening line. Despite being referred to as a “wrongdoer” and “The Bitch,” I still hadn’t heard my crime. I wondered if this was a sick theatrical joke. Immersive, experiential theatre was having a heyday in the city, Maybe I’d wandered into one on accident. If that were the case, I needed to tune back in to the contract language. That must function as the instructions for the show.
“Compensation for The Bitch’s physical assault of The Witch?—”
“Excuse me?” I couldn’t help the indignation in my voice. Any thoughts of the woman across from me being an actress vanished like a half-finished set behind a curtain as she turned her gaze to mine. Rage simmered in her eyes, pressing her face smooth with the heat and weight of an old-fashioned iron. This woman was not only completely serious, there was something deadly in her expression that activated the monkey in my brain again, setting it screaming in a high-pitched keen that drowned out any other impulse I had but the one to escape.
“Did you have a question about the terms, Miss Marina?” Her voice was ice cracking down the middle beneath my feet, threatening to plunge me into the dark depths below.
“I didn’t?—”
“You did.” She cut me off for what felt like the hundredth time. I wasn’t sure I’d uttered a complete sentence since the door slammed behind me. “You slammed into my bad shoulder in the crosswalk. When I told you to watch out, you flippantly refused.”
“Watch it!”
“NO.”
“That was you? I didn’t even?—”
“—see me. Yes, I’m aware.” Madeline waited for the information to settle fully.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. Truly.” I pressed empathetic hands to my chest for emphasis, straightening in my seat. “But surely an accidental brush in a crowded, public space isn’t cause for all of this.” I gestured to the room around us and the stack of papers she still hadn’t read through despite the eternity I felt we’d been sitting here.
“It isn’t.”
I sighed in relief, clasping my hands in my lap and offering Madeline my most winning smile. “I’m glad we agree. What’s the fastest—ahem—easiest way back to the street?”
“But your rudeness needs punished.” Madeline adjusted her glasses for the umpteenth time and returned to the contract. “Compensation for The Bitch’s physical assault of The Witch will be provided in the form of services rendered without fee, commission, or charge until a centum of clientele is reached.”