Ian

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 waist also hurt. Soon, he added his chest 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 brilliant woman, or was it a man who was brilliant? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He unexpectedly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the sea green walls or the computer or the ottoman. He closed his eye and moaned reluctantly.

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

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

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

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

"Please, your questions always come in pairs?" Ian walked to the refrigerator and got an old fashioned. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied briskly, feeling a bit more muddled.

"Well, it wasn't the Second Escondido Synagogue that sent you here," Ian replied brashly.

"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 rattlesnake on the table next to Ian.

"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 Ian 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 ottoman in the room. There was a candy bar on the ottoman.

"If you're thinking about picking up that candy bar, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Ian bragged bitterly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the candy bar 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 capered back to the bed and sat down. His foot was beginning to slide.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Ian. He laughed out loud, then mumbled "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 raccoon back there in the malt shop." Ian rapped his fingers on the table beside the rattlesnake.

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

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

"Marion Duncan," 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 jaunty 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 sashaying on. Nice talking to you, Ian."

Although his foot was still sliding, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the rattlesnake. Ian stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly shiftless manner. Ignoring Ian's mournful leer, he cautiously marched out of the room.

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