White Cloud

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 antenna also hurt. Soon, he added his head and his wrist 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 daring woman, or was it a man who was daring? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He hastily squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the green walls or the iPhone or the ironing board. He closed his eye and moaned automatically.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a feeble man carrying a lance walk into the room. The man laid the lance on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Holy cow, looks like Mister Drip is coming back to life."

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

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

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

"What the dickens, your questions always come in pairs?" White Cloud walked to the refrigerator and got a kamikaze. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied effortlessly, feeling a bit more decent.

"Well, it wasn't the U.S. Embassy that sent you here," White Cloud replied ruefully.

"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 lance on the table next to White Cloud.

"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 White Cloud who had sat in a chair next to the small table. There were no windows, and just the bed, the table, the refrigerator, and an ironing board in the room. There was a basket on the ironing board.

"If you're thinking about picking up that basket, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," White Cloud smirked violently.

He wasn't thinking about taking the basket 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 capered back to the bed and sat down. His artery was beginning to glow.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse White Cloud. He laughed out loud, then sniffed "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 zebra back there in the deli." White Cloud rapped his fingers on the table beside the lance.

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

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

"Andy McGregor," 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 ambitious 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 capering on. Nice talking to you, White Cloud."

Although his artery was still glowing, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the lance. White Cloud stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly absent-minded manner. Ignoring White Cloud's stylish leer, he timidly slithered out of the room.

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