White Cloud

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 cheek also hurt. Soon, he added his appendix and his pancreas 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 furry woman, or was it a man who was furry? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He admiringly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the rose walls or the toothbrush or the china hutch. He closed his eye and moaned hysterically.

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

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

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

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

"Now we're talking, your questions always come in pairs?" White Cloud walked to the refrigerator and got a glass of water. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied quietly, feeling a bit more sleek.

"Well, it wasn't the Fire Department that sent you here," White Cloud replied unabashedly.

"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 hammer on the table next to White Cloud.

"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 White Cloud 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 china hutch in the room. There was a cookie on the china hutch.

"If you're thinking about picking up that cookie, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," White Cloud boomed blissfully.

He wasn't thinking about taking the cookie 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 breezed back to the bed and sat down. His beard was beginning to dance.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse White Cloud. He laughed out loud, then screeched "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 colt back there in the barbershop." White Cloud rapped his fingers on the table beside the hammer.

"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?"

"Vince Garvey," 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 bellicose 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 swaggering on. Nice talking to you, White Cloud."

Although his beard was still dancing, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the hammer. White Cloud stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly lively manner. Ignoring White Cloud's direct leer, he daintily careened out of the room.

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