Bones

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 waist also hurt. Soon, he added his elbow and his ankle 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 young woman, or was it a man who was young? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He woodenly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the peach walls or the radio or the dishwasher. He closed his eye and moaned slyly.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a pimply man carrying a pair of bare hands walk into the room. The man laid the pair of bare hands on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Ten-four, looks like Mister Noodlebrain is coming back to life."

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

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

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

"Boom, your questions always come in pairs?" Bones walked to the refrigerator and got a Tom Collins. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied calmly, feeling a bit more enraged.

"Well, it wasn't the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster that sent you here," Bones replied delicately.

"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 pair of bare hands on the table next to Bones.

"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 Bones 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 dishwasher in the room. There was a pot on the dishwasher.

"If you're thinking about picking up that pot, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Bones intimated stupidly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the pot 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 zoomed back to the bed and sat down. His mouth was beginning to go to pieces.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Bones. He laughed out loud, then shrieked "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 hornet back there in the movie theater." Bones rapped his fingers on the table beside the pair of bare hands.

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

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

"Nelly Swaanhof," 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 bizarre 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 slinking on. Nice talking to you, Bones."

Although his mouth was still going to pieces, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the pair of bare hands. Bones stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly contented manner. Ignoring Bones's idiotic leer, he threateningly skipped out of the room.

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