Lear

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 collarbone also hurt. Soon, he added his spine and his bicep 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 jaunty woman, or was it a man who was jaunty? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He gleefully squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the pea green walls or the smart phone or the desk. He closed his eye and moaned furiously.

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

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

"What the devil, two questions at once. Sorry, you're over your limit. I'll answer one. You can call me Lear.

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

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

"What accident?" he replied curiously, feeling a bit more dreadful.

"Well, it wasn't the Bureau of Indian Affairs that sent you here," Lear replied sagely.

"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 billy club on the table next to Lear.

"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 Lear 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 desk in the room. There was an Egyptian mummy on the desk.

"If you're thinking about picking up that Egyptian mummy, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Lear declared flightily.

He wasn't thinking about taking the Egyptian mummy 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 sped back to the bed and sat down. His knuckle was beginning to blanch.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Lear. He laughed out loud, then spouted "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 hornet back there in the music store." Lear rapped his fingers on the table beside the billy club.

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

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

"Regina Barry," 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 sincere 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 waddling on. Nice talking to you, Lear."

Although his knuckle was still blanching, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the billy club. Lear stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly solitary manner. Ignoring Lear's freakish leer, he warily sashayed out of the room.

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