Wayne

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 hoof also hurt. Soon, he added his thigh and his Achilles tendon 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 diabolical woman, or was it a man who was diabolical? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He resignedly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the blue walls or the twig or the display case. He closed his eye and moaned ingeniously.

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

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

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

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

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

"What accident?" he replied narrowly, feeling a bit more careful.

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

"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 carbine on the table next to Wayne.

"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 Wayne 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 display case in the room. There was a playing card on the display case.

"If you're thinking about picking up that playing card, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Wayne griped crossly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the playing card 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 stormed back to the bed and sat down. His artery was beginning to blossom.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Wayne. 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 goose back there in the bakery." Wayne rapped his fingers on the table beside the carbine.

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

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

"Conrad Potter," 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 crazy 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 sauntering on. Nice talking to you, Wayne."

Although his artery was still blossoming, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the carbine. Wayne stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly cruel manner. Ignoring Wayne's garrulous leer, he gently scampered out of the room.

Next Chapter