"You'll continue your tests from here," Madison said. "Tell them they are going to die."
My face was at once cool and damp.
"That's a tough examination," I gasped.
"A lie," Madison told me. "The boys at Psychicentre worked out the problems."
"You told me you wanted me!" I screamed at him furiously.
"Control your passionate, dainty voice. You worked well with those two. The experts could work through you better."
"Right through me, like a razor blade through margarine," I said. "It's not fair."
"No, it's science. Psychology as a science, not an art. Don't damn me—I'm not the inventor," Madison continued.
"I'm one of them," I murmured, "but I'd just as rather you didn't blame me either."
Madison punched the button for me with a palsied, manicured thumb.