Nickolas

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 lung also hurt. Soon, he added his midriff and his wig 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 sensible woman, or was it a man who was sensible? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He cunningly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the striped walls or the stuffed owl or the computer. He closed his eye and moaned openly.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a slick man carrying a truncheon walk into the room. The man laid the truncheon on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Bada bing bada boom, looks like Mister Ding dong is coming back to life."

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

"Far out, man, two questions at once. Sorry, you're over your limit. I'll answer one. You can call me Nickolas.

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

"Help, your questions always come in pairs?" Nickolas walked to the refrigerator and got a glass of KoolAid. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied accidentally, feeling a bit more bouncy.

"Well, it wasn't the Bureau of Indian Affairs that sent you here," Nickolas replied swiftly.

"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 truncheon on the table next to Nickolas.

"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 Nickolas 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 computer in the room. There was a crayon on the computer.

"If you're thinking about picking up that crayon, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Nickolas grunted frantically.

He wasn't thinking about taking the crayon 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 skipped back to the bed and sat down. His kidney was beginning to tighten up.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Nickolas. He laughed out loud, then preached "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 mink back there in the movie theater." Nickolas rapped his fingers on the table beside the truncheon.

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

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

"Eppie Porrello," 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 frightened 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 barrelling on. Nice talking to you, Nickolas."

Although his kidney was still tightening up, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the truncheon. Nickolas stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly petulant manner. Ignoring Nickolas's noxious leer, he sleepily danced out of the room.

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