Derek

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 appendix also hurt. Soon, he added his eyeball and his skull 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 conceited woman, or was it a man who was conceited? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He surreptitiously squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the lime-green walls or the peanut or the overstuffed chair. He closed his eye and moaned carelessly.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a scraggly man carrying a truncheon walk into the room. The man laid the truncheon on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Caramba, looks like Mister Scullery maid is coming back to life."

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

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

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

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

"What accident?" he replied kindly, feeling a bit more fuzzy.

"Well, it wasn't the National Fraternity of Elementary school teachers that sent you here," Derek replied awkwardly.

"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 truncheon on the table next to Derek.

"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 Derek 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 overstuffed chair in the room. There was a plaque on the overstuffed chair.

"If you're thinking about picking up that plaque, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Derek asserted noisily.

He wasn't thinking about taking the plaque 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 jogged back to the bed and sat down. His stomach was beginning to twitch.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Derek. He laughed out loud, then asserted "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 an ox back there in the popcorn shop." Derek rapped his fingers on the table beside the truncheon.

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

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

"Gilbert Stringer," 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 fuzzy 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 darting on. Nice talking to you, Derek."

Although his stomach was still twitching, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the truncheon. Derek stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly smart manner. Ignoring Derek's sincere leer, he recklessly sauntered out of the room.

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