Tim

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 throat also hurt. Soon, he added his toe and his leg 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 monstrous woman, or was it a man who was monstrous? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He sadly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the chartreuse walls or the feather duster or the bookcase. He closed his eye and moaned tensely.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a cute man carrying a bow and arrows walk into the room. The man laid the bow and arrows on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Gee whiz, looks like Mister Terror is coming back to life."

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

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

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

"Leapin' lizards, your questions always come in pairs?" Tim walked to the refrigerator and got a tequila sunrise. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied elatedly, feeling a bit more presumptuous.

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

"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 bow and arrows on the table next to Tim.

"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 Tim 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 bookcase in the room. There was a battery on the bookcase.

"If you're thinking about picking up that battery, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Tim burbled stealthily.

He wasn't thinking about taking the battery 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 strolled back to the bed and sat down. His calf was beginning to sink.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Tim. He laughed out loud, then intoned "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 frog back there in the bike shop." Tim rapped his fingers on the table beside the bow and arrows.

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

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

"Wesley Fagan," 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 brassy 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 crawling on. Nice talking to you, Tim."

Although his calf was still sinking, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the bow and arrows. Tim stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly princely manner. Ignoring Tim's sober leer, he mysteriously ran out of the room.

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