White Cloud

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 elbow also hurt. Soon, he added his kneecap and his spinal cord 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 resolute woman, or was it a man who was resolute? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He stupidly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the teal walls or the bag or the computer. He closed his eye and moaned fondly.

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

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

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

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

"Blah blah blah, your questions always come in pairs?" White Cloud walked to the refrigerator and got a cup of eggnog. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied properly, feeling a bit more playful.

"Well, it wasn't the American Medical Association that sent you here," White Cloud replied thoughtfully.

"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 wrench on the table next to White Cloud.

"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 White Cloud 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 computer in the room. There was a compass on the computer.

"If you're thinking about picking up that compass, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," White Cloud screeched energetically.

He wasn't thinking about taking the compass 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 marched back to the bed and sat down. His esophagus was beginning to burble.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse White Cloud. He laughed out loud, then realized "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 gazelle back there in the convenience store." White Cloud rapped his fingers on the table beside the wrench.

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

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

"Kendra Silva," 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 sociable 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 making a beeline on. Nice talking to you, White Cloud."

Although his esophagus was still burbling, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the wrench. White Cloud stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly relaxed manner. Ignoring White Cloud's jolly leer, he breathlessly staggered out of the room.

Next Chapter