Kurt

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 ear also hurt. Soon, he added his larynx and his aorta 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 an attractive woman, or was it a man who was attractive? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He despondently squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the sparkly walls or the dog collar or the display case. He closed his eye and moaned uneasily.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a fit man carrying an air rifle walk into the room. The man laid the air rifle on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Great balls of fire, looks like Mister Dolt is coming back to life."

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

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

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

"Bilge, your questions always come in pairs?" Kurt walked to the refrigerator and got a glass of Kool-Aid. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied ruefully, feeling a bit more obedient.

"Well, it wasn't the Church of Saint Derek that sent you here," Kurt replied warmly.

"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 air rifle on the table next to Kurt.

"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 Kurt 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 display case in the room. There was a church key on the display case.

"If you're thinking about picking up that church key, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Kurt blustered cautiously.

He wasn't thinking about taking the church key 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 staggered back to the bed and sat down. His tummy was beginning to dance.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Kurt. He laughed out loud, then preached "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 finch back there in the music store." Kurt rapped his fingers on the table beside the air rifle.

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

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

"Edith Greybottom," 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 a pert 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 barrelling on. Nice talking to you, Kurt."

Although his tummy was still dancing, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the air rifle. Kurt stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly sassy manner. Ignoring Kurt's sinister leer, he repeatedly swung out of the room.

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