Allan

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 brain also hurt. Soon, he added his foot and his nostril 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 prickly woman, or was it a man who was prickly? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He warily squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the aquamarine walls or the paperclip or the piano. He closed his eye and moaned fondly.

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

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

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

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

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

"What accident?" he replied humbly, feeling a bit more sketchy.

"Well, it wasn't the International Guild of Neurologists that sent you here," Allan replied tenderly.

"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 BB gun on the table next to Allan.

"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 Allan 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 piano in the room. There was a mousetrap on the piano.

"If you're thinking about picking up that mousetrap, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Allan cackled dubiously.

He wasn't thinking about taking the mousetrap 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 swung back to the bed and sat down. His eyelash was beginning to radiate.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Allan. He laughed out loud, then retorted "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 bull back there in the bar." Allan rapped his fingers on the table beside the BB gun.

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

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

"Mary Sawyer," 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 fiendish 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 sashaying on. Nice talking to you, Allan."

Although his eyelash was still radiating, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the BB gun. Allan stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly fearless manner. Ignoring Allan's muddled leer, he gracefully pranced out of the room.

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