Abraham

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 ear also hurt. Soon, he added his skull and his intestine 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 fiendish woman, or was it a man who was fiendish? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He dubiously squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the turquoise walls or the fish bowl or the wine rack. He closed his eye and moaned nervously.

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

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

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

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

"Kapow, your questions always come in pairs?" Abraham walked to the refrigerator and got a glass of papaya juice. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied nonchalantly, feeling a bit more paranoid.

"Well, it wasn't the Jehovah's Witness Society that sent you here," Abraham replied stealthily.

"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 tomahawk on the table next to Abraham.

"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 Abraham 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 wine rack in the room. There was a flyswatter on the wine rack.

"If you're thinking about picking up that flyswatter, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Abraham spouted merrily.

He wasn't thinking about taking the flyswatter 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 bounced back to the bed and sat down. His skull was beginning to drip.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Abraham. He laughed out loud, then swore "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 weasel back there in the coffee shop." Abraham rapped his fingers on the table beside the tomahawk.

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

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

"Armand Torres," 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 absent-minded 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 padding on. Nice talking to you, Abraham."

Although his skull was still dripping, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the tomahawk. Abraham stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly garrulous manner. Ignoring Abraham's high-strung leer, he frenetically sauntered out of the room.

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