Archie

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 adrenal gland also hurt. Soon, he added his waist and his hip 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 resolute woman, or was it a man who was resolute? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He woefully squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the magenta walls or the coat hanger or the china hutch. He closed his eye and moaned noisily.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a spry man carrying a syringe walk into the room. The man laid the syringe on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Can you dig it?, looks like Mister Madman is coming back to life."

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

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

That was all he wanted to try to absorb at the moment anyway, so he closed his eye again and tried to belch. 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?" Archie walked to the refrigerator and got a glass of Kool-Aid. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied greedily, feeling a bit more melancholic.

"Well, it wasn't the Internal Revenue Service that sent you here," Archie replied cheerfully.

"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 syringe on the table next to Archie.

"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 Archie 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 china hutch in the room. There was a smart phone on the china hutch.

"If you're thinking about picking up that smart phone, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Archie urged brashly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the smart phone 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 proceeded back to the bed and sat down. His liver was beginning to creak.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Archie. He laughed out loud, then divulged "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 beagle back there in the flower shop." Archie rapped his fingers on the table beside the syringe.

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

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

"Alexander McAllister," 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 an apoplectic 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 skidding on. Nice talking to you, Archie."

Although his liver was still creaking, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the syringe. Archie stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly sophisticated manner. Ignoring Archie's homely leer, he jokingly trotted out of the room.

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