Saul

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 spinal cord also hurt. Soon, he added his nostril and his nose 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 dismal woman, or was it a man who was dismal? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He positively squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the red walls or the clock or the bed. He closed his eye and moaned cautiously.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see an attractive man carrying a wet washrag walk into the room. The man laid the wet washrag on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Tut-tut, looks like Mister Pansy is coming back to life."

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

"I don't think so, two questions at once. Sorry, you're over your limit. I'll answer one. You can call me Saul.

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

"Ka-ching, your questions always come in pairs?" Saul walked to the refrigerator and got a daiquiri. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied quietly, feeling a bit more articulate.

"Well, it wasn't the Neurologists Club that sent you here," Saul replied shakily.

"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 wet washrag on the table next to Saul.

"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 Saul 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 bed in the room. There was an iPod on the bed.

"If you're thinking about picking up that iPod, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Saul stated nonchalantly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the iPod 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 sprinted back to the bed and sat down. His brain was beginning to twirl.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Saul. He laughed out loud, then suggested "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 an alligator back there in the jewelry store." Saul rapped his fingers on the table beside the wet washrag.

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

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

"Claudia Withers," 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 precocious 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 jumping on. Nice talking to you, Saul."

Although his brain was still twirling, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the wet washrag. Saul stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly mournful manner. Ignoring Saul's tense leer, he intensely slumped out of the room.

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