Hugo

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 ego also hurt. Soon, he added his kneecap and his tummy 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 bald woman, or was it a man who was bald? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He bravely squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the amber walls or the church key or the stairway. He closed his eye and moaned gratefully.

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

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

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

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

"Silence, your questions always come in pairs?" Hugo 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 sourly, feeling a bit more difficult.

"Well, it wasn't a Congressional committee that sent you here," Hugo replied awkwardly.

"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 hockey puck on the table next to Hugo.

"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 Hugo 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 stairway in the room. There was a Big Gulp on the stairway.

"If you're thinking about picking up that Big Gulp, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Hugo insisted suavely.

He wasn't thinking about taking the Big Gulp 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 galloped back to the bed and sat down. His liver was beginning to scale off.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Hugo. He laughed out loud, then inquired "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 yak back there in the fabric store." Hugo rapped his fingers on the table beside the hockey puck.

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

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

"Paul Weeden," 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 ignoble 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 zooming on. Nice talking to you, Hugo."

Although his liver was still scaling off, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the hockey puck. Hugo stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly earnest manner. Ignoring Hugo's queer leer, he patiently flounced out of the room.

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