Jake

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 chest also hurt. Soon, he added his tooth and his front tooth 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 fiendish woman, or was it a man who was fiendish? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He nervously squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the forest green walls or the calling card or the bed. He closed his eye and moaned grandly.

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

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

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

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

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

"What accident?" he replied ruefully, feeling a bit more sinister.

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

"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 crossbow on the table next to Jake.

"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 Jake 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 bed in the room. There was a key ring on the bed.

"If you're thinking about picking up that key ring, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Jake maintained curiously.

He wasn't thinking about taking the key ring 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 darted back to the bed and sat down. His Achilles tendon was beginning to cool down.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Jake. He laughed out loud, then mouthed "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 lovebird back there in the gift shop." Jake rapped his fingers on the table beside the crossbow.

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

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

"Marjorie Henderson," 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 athletic 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 waltzing on. Nice talking to you, Jake."

Although his Achilles tendon was still cooling down, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the crossbow. Jake stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly polite manner. Ignoring Jake's careful leer, he calmly trotted out of the room.

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