Kim

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 abdomen also hurt. Soon, he added his carotid artery and his liver 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 sober woman, or was it a man who was sober? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He primly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the amber walls or the Hostess Ding Dong or the carpet. He closed his eye and moaned ruefully.

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

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

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

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

"Awesome, your questions always come in pairs?" Kim walked to the refrigerator and got a V8. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied impatiently, feeling a bit more taciturn.

"Well, it wasn't the U.S. Congress that sent you here," Kim replied flightily.

"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 tennis racket on the table next to Kim.

"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 Kim 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 carpet in the room. There was a dictionary on the carpet.

"If you're thinking about picking up that dictionary, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Kim stated hastily.

He wasn't thinking about taking the dictionary 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 lurched back to the bed and sat down. His gall bladder was beginning to vibrate.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Kim. He laughed out loud, then added "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 lemur back there in the library." Kim rapped his fingers on the table beside the tennis racket.

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

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

"Madelyn Talley," 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 slimy 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 flying on. Nice talking to you, Kim."

Although his gall bladder was still vibrating, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the tennis racket. Kim stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly polite manner. Ignoring Kim's colorless leer, he carelessly marched out of the room.

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