Emile

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 thumb also hurt. Soon, he added his neck and his throat 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 pensive woman, or was it a man who was pensive? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He thankfully squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the crimson walls or the bottle or the chest of drawers. He closed his eye and moaned properly.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a spry man carrying an aspersion walk into the room. The man laid the aspersion on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Big deal, looks like Mister Big oaf is coming back to life."

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

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

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

"Eww, your questions always come in pairs?" Emile walked to the refrigerator and got a glass of Kool-Aid. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied hungrily, feeling a bit more somber.

"Well, it wasn't a Congressional committee that sent you here," Emile replied warily.

"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 aspersion on the table next to Emile.

"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 Emile 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 chest of drawers in the room. There was an arrowhead on the chest of drawers.

"If you're thinking about picking up that arrowhead, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Emile affirmed deliberately.

He wasn't thinking about taking the arrowhead 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 leapt back to the bed and sat down. His leg was beginning to wrinkle.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Emile. He laughed out loud, then vowed "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 bandicoot back there in the travel agency." Emile rapped his fingers on the table beside the aspersion.

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

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

"Stephanie Black," 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 creepy 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 breezing on. Nice talking to you, Emile."

Although his leg was still wrinkling, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the aspersion. Emile stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly weird manner. Ignoring Emile's humble leer, he coolly scampered out of the room.

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