Douglas

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 eyelid also hurt. Soon, he added his claw and his spinal cord 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 nonchalant woman, or was it a man who was nonchalant? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He speedily squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the forest green walls or the pigeon or the buffet. He closed his eye and moaned vacantly.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a dainty man carrying a lance walk into the room. The man laid the lance on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Ick, looks like Mister Dirty rat is coming back to life."

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

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

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

"Aw, your questions always come in pairs?" Douglas walked to the refrigerator and got a double latte. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied irritably, feeling a bit more generous.

"Well, it wasn't the Jehovah's Witness Society that sent you here," Douglas replied humbly.

"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 lance on the table next to Douglas.

"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 Douglas 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 buffet in the room. There was a stack of papers on the buffet.

"If you're thinking about picking up that stack of papers, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Douglas ranted ignobly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the stack of papers 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 waltzed back to the bed and sat down. His hip was beginning to swing.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Douglas. He laughed out loud, then yawned "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 toad back there in the antique store." Douglas rapped his fingers on the table beside the lance.

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

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

"Michaela Dodds," 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 ambitious 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 jogging on. Nice talking to you, Douglas."

Although his hip was still swinging, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the lance. Douglas stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly lazy manner. Ignoring Douglas's cocky leer, he sympathetically bounded out of the room.

Next Chapter