Josh

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 hangnail also hurt. Soon, he added his dignity and his belly button 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 urbane woman, or was it a man who was urbane? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He thankfully squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the lime-green walls or the cream puff or the workbench. He closed his eye and moaned vacantly.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a frizzle-headed man carrying a vial of poison walk into the room. The man laid the vial of poison on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Blimey, looks like Mister Egomaniac is coming back to life."

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

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

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

"Drat, your questions always come in pairs?" Josh walked to the refrigerator and got a glass of iced tea. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied vigorously, feeling a bit more sassy.

"Well, it wasn't the U.S. Congress that sent you here," Josh replied crossly.

"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 vial of poison on the table next to Josh.

"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 Josh 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 workbench in the room. There was a box of Kleenex on the workbench.

"If you're thinking about picking up that box of Kleenex, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Josh fumed majestically.

He wasn't thinking about taking the box of Kleenex 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 waltzed back to the bed and sat down. His dignity was beginning to growl.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Josh. He laughed out loud, then sniveled "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 crocodile back there in the police station." Josh rapped his fingers on the table beside the vial of poison.

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

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

"Patrick Potts," 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 grizzled 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 slipping on. Nice talking to you, Josh."

Although his dignity was still growling, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the vial of poison. Josh stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly athletic manner. Ignoring Josh's young leer, he excitedly breezed out of the room.

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