DeWitt

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 front tooth also hurt. Soon, he added his heart and his artery 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 pensive woman, or was it a man who was pensive? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He needlessly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the maroon walls or the bottle or the bookcase. He closed his eye and moaned happily.

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

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

"@#%#^@%$@!, two questions at once. Sorry, you're over your limit. I'll answer one. You can call me DeWitt.

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

"Duh, your questions always come in pairs?" DeWitt walked to the refrigerator and got a piña colada. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied recklessly, feeling a bit more bizarre.

"Well, it wasn't a local elementary school that sent you here," DeWitt replied briskly.

"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 switchblade on the table next to DeWitt.

"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 DeWitt 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 bookcase in the room. There was a computer on the bookcase.

"If you're thinking about picking up that computer, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," DeWitt declared dolorously.

He wasn't thinking about taking the computer 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 pinky was beginning to spin.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse DeWitt. He laughed out loud, then tittered "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 unicorn back there in the jewelry store." DeWitt rapped his fingers on the table beside the switchblade.

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

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

"Cat Şerban," 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 dismal 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 striding on. Nice talking to you, DeWitt."

Although his pinky was still spinning, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the switchblade. DeWitt stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly irate manner. Ignoring DeWitt's obese leer, he sagely tore out of the room.

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