The Conspirators - Chapter 5
"So, Max, I assume you'd like to know what happened to you, considering you just woke up after being brain-dead for the past three days."
"I'm not quite sure I would call that brain-dead, since I am rather brain-alive when I'm brain-asleep." I ramble uselessly onward, and Mr. Smithy looks annoyed with me. I catch his look and raise my hands. "Hey, I was a zombie just an hour ago. Don't blame me. Apparently I've been dead to the world for the past 72 hours." Smithy sighs and temples his fingers on his forehead, resting his elbows on the table. How's that for a world-weary super-agent-guy?
"You were poisoned." The news hits me like a freight train. My jaw drops to the floor, and my eyes widen.
"By what!?" I ask, frantically waving my arms around in shock. "Am I still sick? Am I actually dead and this is Heaven? Is everyone else dead? OH MY GOSH -- am I gonna die?!" Tears fill my eyes. I am so not ready to go yet. There's still a LOT for me to do here.
"No, Maxine!" He exclaims, losing his cool for a moment. It's a little bit scary, but then I burst out laughing a moment later. You just can't take a top-secret government agent named "Mr. Smith" seriously. Ever seen the Matrix?
"Okay, tell me then. Why am I still in a hospital?" I ask after reclaiming my composure, which had sprouted wings and flown away minutes before. Stress does a lot on the body, and apparently so does this said "poison's" after-effects.
"Because not everything is out of your system yet. You're going to be here for at least 24 more hours." I groan really loudly.
"I'm alive, and being awake is an added bonus. Can't I go, Smithereen?"
"Then at least give me something to do." I regret those words the second I say them. Mr. Smith glances at my mother, who glances back at him. Ooh, the ever-intimidating game of glancing. I'm sooooo scared right now.
"Fill out some paperwork." He reaches in to his bottomless satchel-briefcase-thingy and pulls out a four-inch stack of white paper with black print.
Max: 1 Smith: 1
I can practically feel my face go pale as I launch in to a cold-sweat. Any kind of work on paper was not what I specialized in. Definitely not.
"Ah-ha-ha... how's about 'no'?" I shove the stack of dead trees back at him across the table, a disgusted look on my face.
"How's about 'yes'?" He shoves them back at me, the expression on his never-changing face stoic and emotionless, but I could tell that, even beneath those mirrored sunglasses, he was greatly enjoying this. I sit back in my chair, crossing my arms and smirking.
"How's about 'I just freaking woke up after being poisoned. And I don't think my fingers are working right." He leans forward, templing his fingers in front of his forehead, his elbows on the small table seperating us.
"I will get you a computer."
"That doesn't help me any." I narrowed my eyes dangerously, even though I didn't really pose a threat to this overly emo man in my current state.
"If you can eat, then you can write." I groaned loudly, slamming my forehead on the table. After a moment, I held out my hand, my head still down.
"Hand it over." He dropped the heavy, heavy, heavy stack of papers in my open palm, and it was pinned to the table by the printed evil. "Ugh... eww. You seriously want me to do this?" I looked up at him skeptically, raising an eyebrow. He just had no idea what I was going to do yet.
"Yes. It is your job."
"Then pay me."
"You get paid after you do the work."
"I don't follow the rules."
"And you'd do much better!?" I cried out in exasperation, flailing my arms like a child who'd just began panicking.
I swear I would've slapped him - if I didn't have such great self-control.
"Go die in a smithy. Burn to your death in the fiery lava of hell." I glared at him, completely ignoring my mother's chastising look. I wasn't supposed to curse in front of her, buuuuuuuut I was referring to the place, not the literal word.
"As you wish, princess." My jaw dropped.
"No. Freaking. Way. You're a fan!?" I exclaimed, flailing my arms again. Maybe something went wrong in my brain when they poisoned me, and now I'm acting like a child.
"That is classified." I swear on everything he smiled just a tiny, tiny, tiny bit. But when you know an emotionless man that well, you pick up on the minuscule amount of emotion that breaks through their wall. "Your pen." He shoved a pen at me, pulling me back out of my daydream.
And for once, I smiled at him.