Reginald

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 funny bone also hurt. Soon, he added his front tooth and his rib 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 anemic woman, or was it a man who was anemic? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He effortlessly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the black walls or the iPad or the wine rack. He closed his eye and moaned boisterously.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a delicate man carrying a silver bullet walk into the room. The man laid the silver bullet on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Poof, looks like Mister Loser 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 Reginald.

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

"Pshaw, your questions always come in pairs?" Reginald walked to the refrigerator and got a cup of hot cider. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied ignobly, feeling a bit more brilliant.

"Well, it wasn't the Humane Society that sent you here," Reginald replied innocently.

"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 silver bullet on the table next to Reginald.

"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 Reginald 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 wine rack in the room. There was a hot potato on the wine rack.

"If you're thinking about picking up that hot potato, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Reginald proposed hungrily.

He wasn't thinking about taking the hot potato 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 climbed back to the bed and sat down. His brain was beginning to bounce.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Reginald. He laughed out loud, then spat "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 lovebird back there in the barbershop." Reginald rapped his fingers on the table beside the silver bullet.

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

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

"Jerry Kollmorgen," 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 miniscule 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 climbing on. Nice talking to you, Reginald."

Although his brain was still bouncing, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the silver bullet. Reginald stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly haggard manner. Ignoring Reginald's awkward leer, he cunningly tramped out of the room.

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