Abel

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 skull also hurt. Soon, he added his chest and his nose 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 gentle woman, or was it a man who was gentle? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He sharply squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the orange walls or the yo-yo or the stairway. He closed his eye and moaned hysterically.

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

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

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

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

"So sure, your questions always come in pairs?" Abel walked to the refrigerator and got a Moscow mule. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied sternly, feeling a bit more brash.

"Well, it wasn't Friends of Oxen that sent you here," Abel replied daringly.

"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 stick of dynamite on the table next to Abel.

"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 Abel 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 stairway in the room. There was a sea shell on the stairway.

"If you're thinking about picking up that sea shell, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Abel acknowledged deliberately.

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 careened back to the bed and sat down. His skull was beginning to dribble.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Abel. He laughed out loud, then divulged "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 kitty back there in the psychic reading business." Abel rapped his fingers on the table beside the stick of dynamite.

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

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

"Kaylee Boodler," 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 charming 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 careening on. Nice talking to you, Abel."

Although his skull was still dribbling, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the stick of dynamite. Abel stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly frumpy manner. Ignoring Abel's humble leer, he hungrily walked out of the room.

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