Vilmer

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 calf and his thorax 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 naïve woman, or was it a man who was naïve? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He uselessly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the beige walls or the can of shaving cream or the overstuffed chair. He closed his eye and moaned sadly.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see an attractive man carrying a blank stare walk into the room. The man laid the blank stare on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Goodness me, looks like Mister Hoodlum is coming back to life."

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

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

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

"Peachy-keen, your questions always come in pairs?" Vilmer walked to the refrigerator and got a glass of orange juice. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied again, feeling a bit more pensive.

"Well, it wasn't the FBI that sent you here," Vilmer replied greedily.

"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 blank stare on the table next to Vilmer.

"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 Vilmer 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 jar of olives on the overstuffed chair.

"If you're thinking about picking up that jar of olives, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Vilmer ranted ferociously.

He wasn't thinking about taking the jar of olives 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 scooted back to the bed and sat down. His scalp was beginning to undulate.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Vilmer. He laughed out loud, then comforted "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 gila monster back there in the popcorn shop." Vilmer rapped his fingers on the table beside the blank stare.

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

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

"Mackenzie Cochran," 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 an obnoxious 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 tumbling on. Nice talking to you, Vilmer."

Although his scalp was still undulating, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the blank stare. Vilmer stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly lazy manner. Ignoring Vilmer's spunky leer, he nervously bounded out of the room.

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