James

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 shoulder also hurt. Soon, he added his gut and his horn 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 sassy woman, or was it a man who was sassy? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He openly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the emerald green walls or the fossil or the wooden crate. He closed his eye and moaned thankfully.

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

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

"Peachy-keen, two questions at once. Sorry, you're over your limit. I'll answer one. You can call me James.

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

"Gosh almighty, your questions always come in pairs?" James walked to the refrigerator and got a soda. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied grimly, feeling a bit more irate.

"Well, it wasn't the National Endowment for the Preservation of Bats that sent you here," James replied recklessly.

"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 dagger on the table next to James.

"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 James 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 wooden crate in the room. There was a sea shell on the wooden crate.

"If you're thinking about picking up that sea shell, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," James enunciated elatedly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the sea shell 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 clambered back to the bed and sat down. His aorta was beginning to vex.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse James. He laughed out loud, then fumed "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 toad back there in the insurance agency." James rapped his fingers on the table beside the dagger.

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

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

"Bunny Benton," 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 sanguine 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 waddling on. Nice talking to you, James."

Although his aorta was still vexing, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the dagger. James stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly fearful manner. Ignoring James's considerate leer, he proudly sashayed out of the room.

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