Adam

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 tail also hurt. Soon, he added his arm and his beard 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 an emotional woman, or was it a man who was emotional? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He lovingly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the orange walls or the paintbrush or the filing cabinet. He closed his eye and moaned briskly.

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

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

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

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

"LOL, your questions always come in pairs?" Adam walked to the refrigerator and got a bottle of Gatorade. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied uneasily, feeling a bit more timid.

"Well, it wasn't the American Association of Tax collectors that sent you here," Adam replied truculently.

"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 Adam.

"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 Adam 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 filing cabinet in the room. There was a carrot on the filing cabinet.

"If you're thinking about picking up that carrot, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Adam cajoled gleefully.

He wasn't thinking about taking the carrot 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 made a beeline back to the bed and sat down. His knuckle was beginning to wobble.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Adam. He laughed out loud, then intimated "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 turkey back there in the saloon." Adam rapped his fingers on the table beside the crossbow.

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

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

"Fiona Clooney," 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 sloppy 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 traipsing on. Nice talking to you, Adam."

Although his knuckle was still wobbling, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the crossbow. Adam stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly creepy manner. Ignoring Adam's artistic leer, he admiringly strode out of the room.

Next Chapter