Cyrus

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 spine also hurt. Soon, he added his foot and his hand 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 vile woman, or was it a man who was vile? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He truculently squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the brilliant orange walls or the magnet or the hammock. He closed his eye and moaned uselessly.

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

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

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

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

"Goodness gracious, your questions always come in pairs?" Cyrus walked to the refrigerator and got a Tom and Jerry. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied nicely, feeling a bit more sleek.

"Well, it wasn't the Society of Electrical engineers that sent you here," Cyrus replied blindly.

"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 ukulele on the table next to Cyrus.

"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 Cyrus 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 hammock in the room. There was a feather on the hammock.

"If you're thinking about picking up that feather, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Cyrus screamed jokingly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the feather 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 inched back to the bed and sat down. His face was beginning to peel.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Cyrus. He laughed out loud, then disputed "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 mare back there in the fabric store." Cyrus rapped his fingers on the table beside the ukulele.

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

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

"Heather Adams," 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 awkward 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 parading on. Nice talking to you, Cyrus."

Although his face was still peeling, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the ukulele. Cyrus stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly undignified manner. Ignoring Cyrus's dark leer, he thankfully sauntered out of the room.

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