Will

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 little finger also hurt. Soon, he added his brain and his knuckle 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 bald woman, or was it a man who was bald? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He primly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the emerald green walls or the joint or the china hutch. He closed his eye and moaned languidly.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a scraggly man carrying a bazooka walk into the room. The man laid the bazooka on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Son of a Baptist preacher, looks like Mister Old biddy is coming back to life."

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

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

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

"When pigs fly, your questions always come in pairs?" Will walked to the refrigerator and got a glass of wine. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied pityingly, feeling a bit more annoying.

"Well, it wasn't the International Guild of Janitors that sent you here," Will replied sharply.

"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 bazooka on the table next to Will.

"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 Will 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 Rubik's cube on the china hutch.

"If you're thinking about picking up that Rubik's cube, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Will affirmed fiercely.

He wasn't thinking about taking the Rubik's cube 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 slunk back to the bed and sat down. His leg was beginning to flap.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Will. He laughed out loud, then grieved "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 llama back there in the bakery." Will rapped his fingers on the table beside the bazooka.

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

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

"Ollie Vintner," 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 prissy 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 slinking on. Nice talking to you, Will."

Although his leg was still flapping, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the bazooka. Will stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly anemic manner. Ignoring Will's queer leer, he ruefully dove out of the room.

Next Chapter