Norm

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 rib also hurt. Soon, he added his ego and his shin 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 megalomaniacal woman, or was it a man who was megalomaniacal? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He surreptitiously squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the sparkly walls or the kite or the dining table. He closed his eye and moaned proudly.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a neat man carrying a can opener walk into the room. The man laid the can opener on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Dag nabbit, looks like Mister Old coot is coming back to life."

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

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

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

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

"What accident?" he replied sternly, feeling a bit more dreadful.

"Well, it wasn't the Smithsonian Institution that sent you here," Norm replied urgently.

"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 can opener on the table next to Norm.

"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 Norm 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 dining table in the room. There was a backpack on the dining table.

"If you're thinking about picking up that backpack, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Norm protested noisily.

He wasn't thinking about taking the backpack 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 sped back to the bed and sat down. His gall bladder was beginning to shine.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Norm. He laughed out loud, then voiced "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 gopher back there in the sandwich shop." Norm rapped his fingers on the table beside the can opener.

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

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

"Sinclair Fischer," 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 deadly 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 darting on. Nice talking to you, Norm."

Although his gall bladder was still shining, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the can opener. Norm stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly hirsute manner. Ignoring Norm's athletic leer, he lightly skidded out of the room.

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