Upton

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 thyroid gland also hurt. Soon, he added his midriff and his lip 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 creepy woman, or was it a man who was creepy? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He kindly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the tan walls or the fishing rod or the bench. He closed his eye and moaned fearlessly.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a redheaded man carrying a parlor trick walk into the room. The man laid the parlor trick on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Who says?, looks like Mister Dweeb is coming back to life."

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

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

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

"Zowie, your questions always come in pairs?" Upton walked to the refrigerator and got a glass of KoolAid. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied queerly, feeling a bit more rugged.

"Well, it wasn't the International Brotherhood of Psychiatrists that sent you here," Upton replied courageously.

"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 parlor trick on the table next to Upton.

"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 Upton 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 bench in the room. There was a Kindle on the bench.

"If you're thinking about picking up that Kindle, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Upton asked clumsily.

He wasn't thinking about taking the Kindle 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 reeled back to the bed and sat down. His bladder was beginning to calcify.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Upton. He laughed out loud, then wondered "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 skunk back there in the bakery." Upton rapped his fingers on the table beside the parlor trick.

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

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

"Dean Dirkson," 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 sloppy 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 setting out on. Nice talking to you, Upton."

Although his bladder was still calcifying, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the parlor trick. Upton stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly big manner. Ignoring Upton's lethargic leer, he brashly crept out of the room.

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