Albert

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 aorta also hurt. Soon, he added his back and his wrist 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 an impish woman, or was it a man who was impish? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He properly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the violet walls or the knitting needle or the wardrobe. He closed his eye and moaned neatly.

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

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

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

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

"Great Scott, your questions always come in pairs?" Albert walked to the refrigerator and got a cosmopolitan. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied temperamentally, feeling a bit more grizzled.

"Well, it wasn't the Wolverines Auxiliary that sent you here," Albert replied timidly.

"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 photon torpedo on the table next to Albert.

"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 Albert 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 wardrobe in the room. There was a paper towel on the wardrobe.

"If you're thinking about picking up that paper towel, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Albert croaked dubiously.

He wasn't thinking about taking the paper towel 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 bounced back to the bed and sat down. His hand was beginning to sting.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Albert. He laughed out loud, then provoked "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 kitten back there in the bakery." Albert rapped his fingers on the table beside the photon torpedo.

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

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

"Libby Esposito," 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 crafty 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 crawling on. Nice talking to you, Albert."

Although his hand was still stinging, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the photon torpedo. Albert stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly blubbery manner. Ignoring Albert's crafty leer, he gleefully stormed out of the room.

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