Touch of Madness by C. T. Adams, Cathy Clamp

the weapon!” I turned and saw the second boy pull a blue balloon out from his jacket. As the first boy cocked back his arm to throw, a darkuniformed figure launched himself into a flying tackle, bringing the boy to the pavement with a bruising impact, the balloon smashing against the ground inches away from them.
    I spun, toward the second attacker, even as the smell of rotting meat hit me like a slap to the face. He’d let go of his balloon. I had all the time in the world to see it sailing toward me, and no time at all to avoid it. It hit me in the center of my chest and exploded, soaking me with red paint mixed with what smelled suspiciously like fly attractant. Police officers had cuffed both boys and were hauling them toward the squad cars. A third cop crossed the street to check on me, leaving his buddies to deal with the wildly cheering crowd of demonstrators.
    “Ma’am, are you all right?”
    “I’m fine.” I reached down to grab my purse. I wasn’t hurt, but I was humiliated. My clothes were ruined, and I stank like road kill left in the mid-July sun for a couple of days. I was scheduled to be in the courtroom in less than five minutes to testify. Oh, and all of the local news cameras were aimed in my direction.
    “Do you want to press charges for assault?”
    I thought about it and decided that, while a part of me really did want to, I also didn’t have time to deal with it right now. I turned to the cop. “I’m scheduled to testify in Courtroom Four in a few minutes.”
    “I’ll walk you through the line, but you’ll have to wait and go through security. If you decide to press charges, stop by the station.” He gave me an address over on Cherokee, only a couple blocks from the courthouse, escorted me past the line to the back door, through security, and to the bathroom door. He promised to go into the courtroom and let my attorney know what had happened, and that I would be there in just a few minutes. I hated being late. It would probably piss off the judge. But I had to at least try and clean up. I was scrubbing my face with a coarse paper towel and the cheap pink soap they keep in the dispensers when a woman opened the restroom door. Her nose twitched, she gagged, and retreated rapidly back into the hallway. The jacket had been one of my favorites. But it was completely soaked and totally unsalvageable. I shoved it through the hinged lid into the trash can. The pants were ruined, too, but I couldn’t exactly take them off until I had something else to wear. The tee-shirt had only been splattered. I’d go ahead and wear it, but the odds were good that the stuff would stain, despite my efforts to blot at the spots.
    There was a brisk knock on the outer bathroom door. “Ms. Reilly, they’re ready for you in the courtroom.” I recognized the voice of my attorney’s legal assistant.
    “All right.” I turned off the sink, dried my hands, and retrieved my purse.
    The assistant was waiting for me outside the door. He manfully managed not to gag, but he couldn’t keep from sneezing. He escorted me past the scaffolding, down the hall. When we reached the courtroom, he held open the heavy wood door for me. Steeling myself, I passed through.
    Back rigid, I walked straight up the center aisle. There were gasps. More than a few people made choking noises. I couldn’t blame them. The stench was really, seriously disgusting, and this was the improved model. Short of utter desperation I didn’t believe anybody would set foot in the women’s restroom on this floor until the janitors had emptied the trash.
    In a loud voice my attorney announced, “I call Mary Kathleen Reilly to the stand.”
    The bailiff held open the little gate to the front of the courtroom and I walked over to the witness stand. I put my left hand on the bible, my right in the air and swore to tell the whole truth. And I did, so help me God. I glanced at the judge and fought not to blush as he winced from the smell. “No need to