Russell

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 beard also hurt. Soon, he added his ankle and his toupee 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 dapper woman, or was it a man who was dapper? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He dolorously squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the amber walls or the tube of toothpaste or the overstuffed chair. He closed his eye and moaned timidly.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a thin man carrying a baton walk into the room. The man laid the baton on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "For Pete's sake, looks like Mister Dweeb is coming back to life."

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

"W00t, two questions at once. Sorry, you're over your limit. I'll answer one. You can call me Russell.

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

"By Jove, your questions always come in pairs?" Russell walked to the refrigerator and got a cambric tea. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied happily, feeling a bit more idiotic.

"Well, it wasn't the Humane Society that sent you here," Russell replied oddly.

"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 baton on the table next to Russell.

"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 Russell 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 overstuffed chair in the room. There was a crystal ball on the overstuffed chair.

"If you're thinking about picking up that crystal ball, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Russell blustered dreamily.

He wasn't thinking about taking the crystal ball 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 sidled back to the bed and sat down. His thigh was beginning to get tangled.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Russell. He laughed out loud, then repeated "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 giraffe back there in the café." Russell rapped his fingers on the table beside the baton.

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

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

"Dinah Brontsky," 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 drowsy 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 sneaking on. Nice talking to you, Russell."

Although his thigh was still getting tangled, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the baton. Russell stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly decent manner. Ignoring Russell's timid leer, he lightly tiptoed out of the room.

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