Sam

His head was muddled and it was dark. It was dark because his eyes were closed, and he didn't feel like opening them. His head hurt. He considered that briefly, then became aware that his abdomen also hurt. Soon, he added his hip and his abdomen to the list, and thought it might be more productive to make a list of what didn't hurt. No, that produced nothing.

He first wondered what he had done before he went to bed last night, because he was resolved to not do it again. He tried to stop thinking about anything, because it hurt to think.

Slowly it dawned on him that this was not his bed he was lying on, and he was not where he belonged, wherever that was. He thought there had been a vacuous woman, or was it a man who was vacuous? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He sternly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the fuchsia walls or the camera or the sofa. He closed his eye and moaned swiftly.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a scraggly man carrying a piercing stare walk into the room. The man laid the piercing stare on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Cool beans, looks like Mister Scoundrel is coming back to life."

He suppressed another moan and asked, "Where am I? And who are you?"

"You're kidding, two questions at once. Sorry, you're over your limit. I'll answer one. You can call me Sam.

That was all he wanted to try to absorb at the moment anyway, so he closed his eye again and tried to scream. He immediately opened both eyes and asked, "What am I here for? Can I have something to drink?"

"Yoohoo, your questions always come in pairs?" Sam walked to the refrigerator and got a bottle of rum. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied testily, feeling a bit more grizzled.

"Well, it wasn't the National Rifle Association that sent you here," Sam replied thoughtfully.

"And this doesn't look like a hospital. By the way, where's the bathroom? Who are you working for?" He did need the bathroom, but he also wanted to scope the place out a bit. He wasn't forgetting the piercing stare on the table next to Sam.

"There you go again. That's two questions. The bathroom's over there," he said, gesturing with his head.

Sitting up slowly and gingerly, he looked around the room. The bathroom door was to his left. The other door was in front of him, beside Sam who had sat in a chair next to the small table. There were no windows, and just the bed, the table, the refrigerator, and a sofa in the room. There was a doll on the sofa.

"If you're thinking about picking up that doll, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Sam alleged lovingly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the doll at the moment. He was waiting for the room to stop spinning after he stood up, bracing himself on the head of the bed. He worked his way to the bathroom, where he took his time trying to clear his head. He splashed some water on his face, then crept back to the bed and sat down. His front tooth was beginning to look funny.

"If it's not too much trouble, how about you call me a cab now?"

This seemed to genuinely amuse Sam. He laughed out loud, then reasoned "You won't be needing a cab to get where you're going."

Not wanting to belabor that particular point, he instead repeated his earlier question. "Who are you working for?"

"So let's you tell me who you're working for, and why you were snooping around like a manticore back there in the gift shop." Sam rapped his fingers on the table beside the piercing stare.

"I was looking for my friend. Who hit me?"

"You tripped on a salt shaker. You took a bad fall. Who is this friend you were looking for?"

"Kimberly Clapper," he lied. "Who do you work for, and why are you keeping me here?"

"Nobody's keeping you here. That would be way too much trouble. Who wants to deal with an angry guest? We just wanted to chat while we help you get back on your feet."

"Okay, we chatted and I'm on my feet," (barely, he thought to himself), "so I'll just be reeling on. Nice talking to you, Sam."

Although his front tooth was still looking funny, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the piercing stare. Sam stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly brassy manner. Ignoring Sam's sketchy leer, he doubtfully paraded out of the room.

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