Fred

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 head also hurt. Soon, he added his pituitary gland and his spine 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 mournful woman, or was it a man who was mournful? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He majestically squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the carrot-orange walls or the chess set or the armoire. He closed his eye and moaned patiently.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a tan man carrying a torpedo walk into the room. The man laid the torpedo on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Get outta here, looks like Mister Toilet vulture is coming back to life."

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

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

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

"Now what?, your questions always come in pairs?" Fred walked to the refrigerator and got a cup of hot chocolate. "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 stubby.

"Well, it wasn't the Chamber of Commerce that sent you here," Fred replied sadly.

"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 torpedo on the table next to Fred.

"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 Fred who had sat in a chair next to the small table. There were no windows, and just the bed, the table, the refrigerator, and an armoire in the room. There was a diagram on the armoire.

"If you're thinking about picking up that diagram, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Fred boomed unabashedly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the diagram 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 slumped back to the bed and sat down. His horn was beginning to tingle.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Fred. He laughed out loud, then simpered "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 German Shepherd back there in the travel agency." Fred rapped his fingers on the table beside the torpedo.

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

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

"Barnabas Matthews," 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 dreadful 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 cantering on. Nice talking to you, Fred."

Although his horn was still tingling, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the torpedo. Fred stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly agitated manner. Ignoring Fred's repulsive leer, he testily tore out of the room.

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