Tourist Trap

Chapter 8

Zeke opened his eyes blearily and let out an involuntary groan. His head felt like it had been hit by a sack full of bricks and he appeared to be lying on his back on the floor underneath a table. He had the taste of stale cigar in his mouth and he was surrounded by numerous empty glasses. Momentarily disoriented, he tried to sit up and look around, but it hurt to move.  

Slowly he began to recall the events of the previous night. After he had returned from Ned's Discotheque he had stumbled into this room and interrupted some meeting between a group of weird creatures. He had a nagging feeling that something bad had happened after that, but it all blurred together in a foggy alcoholic haze. It appeared he had eventually passed out right here on the floor. 

He rolled over to his stomach and tried to push himself up. He got about halfway up and then collapsed back into a heap, letting out another groan in the process. His eyelids felt heavy and he wanted desperately to go back to sleep, but something in the back of his mind was bothering him. He forced his eyes open again and peered around as much as he could without turning his head. It appeared from this vantage point that he was the only person in the room. 

After a few minutes he felt like he could muster up the strength to at least crawl out from under the table, so he took a deep breath and inched his way out. He grabbed hold of a chair and pulled himself up into it. He then leaned forward, elbows on the table, propping up his head with his hands.  

After a few more minutes he ventured to look around. The room was in a state of complete disarray. There were empty glasses and spilled drinks everywhere along with cigar butts scattered around the table and floor. Several of the chairs were overturned and there was a big pink bra strewn over a lamp. Apparently the meeting had devolved into one hell of a party. 

Glancing around it became clear that he was completely alone at the moment. He wondered what time it was and when everyone else had left. He pulled himself unsteadily to his feet and made his way to the bathroom to relieve himself, and hopefully procure some water to drink. 

He flushed the toilet, washed his hands, and splashed some water in his face. Then he cupped his hands under the sink and drank several large gulps. 

Feeling slightly more refreshed he decided to head down to the lobby and maybe seek out some food. Then maybe he could find out his room number and meet up again with Sarah. 

At the thought of Sarah, the bothersome thing that had been nagging at the back of his mind suddenly came pouring back clearly. He had been charged with the task of killing her or being killed himself. This was a most unpleasant dilemma. Why couldn't they have asked him to kill Vance instead? That was a mission he possibly could have been receptive to, but Sarah?  

As he walked to the elevator tubes he resolved to himself that he would simply just have to avoid her at all costs. After all, if he never encountered her, he couldn't very well kill her, could he? Surely Trevor Mastodon and his cronies couldn't blame him for that. "Well, that settles that," he said aloud and felt a bit more at ease. "I just won't see Sarah at all. Problem solved." 

Unfortunately as he emerged into the lobby he bumped right into her, along with Vance and some frog-like creature. She appeared to be rather distraught. 

"Oh Zeke, there you are," she said through tears. 

"What's wrong?" Zeke asked, momentarily forgetting that he was trying to avoid her. She looked so helpless and he had an aching desire to hold her in his arms and comfort her. There wasn't much chance of that happening with Vance standing right there. Not to mention the weird frog that was staring at him suspiciously.  

Sarah started to answer but Max cut her short. "Just a minute here. Who is this guy? How do we know he didn't do it?" 

"Do what?" Zeke asked. "Who the hell are you anyway?"