Barry

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 big toe also hurt. Soon, he added his claw and his intestine 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 jaunty woman, or was it a man who was jaunty? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He warily squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the lavender walls or the bagpipe or the recliner. He closed his eye and moaned gratefully.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a petite man carrying a shoe walk into the room. The man laid the shoe on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Why not?, looks like Mister Culprit is coming back to life."

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

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

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

"For the love of Pete, your questions always come in pairs?" Barry walked to the refrigerator and got a glass of grape juice. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied grimly, feeling a bit more brash.

"Well, it wasn't the Audubon Society that sent you here," Barry replied nervously.

"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 shoe on the table next to Barry.

"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 Barry 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 recliner in the room. There was a paper towel on the recliner.

"If you're thinking about picking up that paper towel, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Barry begged narrowly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the paper towel 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 waddled back to the bed and sat down. His piehole was beginning to creak.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Barry. 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 a gila monster back there in the bike shop." Barry rapped his fingers on the table beside the shoe.

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

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

"Trent Tooker," 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 selfish 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 skittering on. Nice talking to you, Barry."

Although his piehole was still creaking, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the shoe. Barry stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly wizened manner. Ignoring Barry's tense leer, he nimbly sashayed out of the room.

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