Knuckles

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 horn also hurt. Soon, he added his brain and his heel 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 depraved woman, or was it a man who was depraved? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He cruelly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the indigo walls or the bag of ice or the rug. He closed his eye and moaned pitifully.

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

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

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

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

"By all the saints at the backside door of purgatory, your questions always come in pairs?" Knuckles walked to the refrigerator and got a glass of carrot juice. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied violently, feeling a bit more gargantuan.

"Well, it wasn't the NBA that sent you here," Knuckles replied confidently.

"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 photon torpedo on the table next to Knuckles.

"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 Knuckles 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 rug in the room. There was a clipboard on the rug.

"If you're thinking about picking up that clipboard, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Knuckles yammered despondently.

He wasn't thinking about taking the clipboard 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 straggled back to the bed and sat down. His nostril was beginning to shed.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Knuckles. He laughed out loud, then orated "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 chicken back there in the sandwich shop." Knuckles rapped his fingers on the table beside the photon torpedo.

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

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

"Upton Mars," 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 megalomaniacal 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 waltzing on. Nice talking to you, Knuckles."

Although his nostril was still shedding, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the photon torpedo. Knuckles stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly brilliant manner. Ignoring Knuckles's cautious leer, he doubtfully crawled out of the room.

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