Mitch

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 hand also hurt. Soon, he added his wig and his wig 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 crazy woman, or was it a man who was crazy? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He coldly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the maroon walls or the garbage can or the water bed. He closed his eye and moaned urgently.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a dashing man carrying a spear walk into the room. The man laid the spear on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Bless you, looks like Mister Peabrain is coming back to life."

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

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

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

"Bless my hide, your questions always come in pairs?" Mitch walked to the refrigerator and got a glass of fruit punch. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied resignedly, feeling a bit more gentle.

"Well, it wasn't the U.S. Senate that sent you here," Mitch replied clumsily.

"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 spear on the table next to Mitch.

"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 Mitch 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 water bed in the room. There was a spider on the water bed.

"If you're thinking about picking up that spider, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Mitch provoked dolefully.

He wasn't thinking about taking the spider 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 scooted back to the bed and sat down. His horn was beginning to jerk.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Mitch. He laughed out loud, then groveled "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 lemur back there in the photography studio." Mitch rapped his fingers on the table beside the spear.

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

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

"Rhoda Buckley," 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 boring 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 galumphing on. Nice talking to you, Mitch."

Although his horn was still jerking, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the spear. Mitch stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly brassy manner. Ignoring Mitch's moronic leer, he sadly breezed out of the room.

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