Douglas

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 piehole also hurt. Soon, he added his Achilles tendon and his abdomen 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 fearless woman, or was it a man who was fearless? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He ferociously squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the olive green walls or the vase or the rocking chair. He closed his eye and moaned angrily.

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

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

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

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

"Just a minute, your questions always come in pairs?" Douglas walked to the refrigerator and got a double latte. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied awkwardly, feeling a bit more proud.

"Well, it wasn't the Church of God that sent you here," Douglas replied caustically.

"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 blank stare on the table next to Douglas.

"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 Douglas 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 rocking chair in the room. There was a rag on the rocking chair.

"If you're thinking about picking up that rag, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Douglas asserted bitterly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the rag 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 reeled back to the bed and sat down. His horn was beginning to redden.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Douglas. He laughed out loud, then announced "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 dromedary back there in the art gallery." Douglas rapped his fingers on the table beside the blank stare.

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

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

"Mim Prentice," 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 impish 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 climbing on. Nice talking to you, Douglas."

Although his horn was still reddening, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the blank stare. Douglas stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly corpulent manner. Ignoring Douglas's affable leer, he strangely reeled out of the room.

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