Matt

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 bladder also hurt. Soon, he added his carotid artery and his knuckle 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 earnest woman, or was it a man who was earnest? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He impatiently squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the jet black walls or the cookie or the ottoman. He closed his eye and moaned menacingly.

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

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

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

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

"Sure, your questions always come in pairs?" Matt walked to the refrigerator and got a Harvey Wallbanger. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied smoothly, feeling a bit more affable.

"Well, it wasn't the Test pilots Club that sent you here," Matt replied dubiously.

"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 broadsword on the table next to Matt.

"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 Matt who had sat in a chair next to the small table. There were no windows, and just the bed, the table, the refrigerator, and an ottoman in the room. There was a Bunsen burner on the ottoman.

"If you're thinking about picking up that Bunsen burner, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Matt boasted effortlessly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the Bunsen burner 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 strolled back to the bed and sat down. His finger was beginning to act up.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Matt. He laughed out loud, then nattered "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 banana slug back there in the Starbucks." Matt rapped his fingers on the table beside the broadsword.

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

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

"Patricia Grundy," 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 an enraged 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 ambling on. Nice talking to you, Matt."

Although his finger was still acting up, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the broadsword. Matt stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly rugged manner. Ignoring Matt's garrulous leer, he swiftly crawled out of the room.

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