Jacques

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 hangnail and his head 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 clever woman, or was it a man who was clever? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He fearfully squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the grey walls or the router or the nightstand. He closed his eye and moaned offhandedly.

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

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

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

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

"Good gracious, your questions always come in pairs?" Jacques walked to the refrigerator and got a cosmopolitan. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied brightly, feeling a bit more urbane.

"Well, it wasn't the National Football League that sent you here," Jacques replied urgently.

"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 boomerang on the table next to Jacques.

"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 Jacques 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 nightstand in the room. There was a teacup on the nightstand.

"If you're thinking about picking up that teacup, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Jacques added sorrowfully.

He wasn't thinking about taking the teacup 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 loped back to the bed and sat down. His brain was beginning to feel heavy.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Jacques. He laughed out loud, then burbled "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 panda back there in the health food store." Jacques rapped his fingers on the table beside the boomerang.

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

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

"Emily Rutherford," 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 fearful 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, Jacques."

Although his brain was still feeling heavy, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the boomerang. Jacques stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly brave manner. Ignoring Jacques's tall leer, he grandly sailed out of the room.

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