Zeds 7.2

I squint against the bright light overhead. This is definitely not my bed. My bed doesn’t have lights above it; or shelves for the matter. Nothing in my cabin has lights this bright, even. This isn’t my cabin. That damn mouse must have some powerful friends.
It’s not the damn mouse.
Alright! Geez, me, I don’t have to yell at me so harshly!
I pull at the restraints, suddenly aware again of a very sharp, growing pain in my leg where the twins had kicked me.
The twins are a dream, damn it! 
I seem to be extremely groggy. I shake my head a few times, hoping to loosen the hold of whatever in me is blurring my dreams and reality. I wince as the pain builds into a sharp throb and my muscles all tense in response. My legs are not restrained so I pull my knee up near my chest. I don’t know if raising it helps, or using it helps, but for whatever reason, the pain slowly dissipates into a distant throb.
“What. The Hell?!”
I freeze as I hear something; a sliding door? My vision is blurry, a combination of grogginess fused with the blinding lights overhead and whatever else it is in my system that’s making me a little loopy. I rub my eye against the pillow, managing to clear my vision a little and look at the slightly defined blob in the corner, peeking through the doorway. I must still be loopy because she looks like someone famous I’ve seen.
“Roxy?” I mutter at her, confused.
No, moron! It’s not your favorite porn star!
I tell myself to shut up again as the figure disappears. A few seconds later another person appears, larger than the first.
“Were you bit?” A man’s voice. I blink a few times at them. With a little magic dance of my eyelids, I manage to clear my vision up a little more. I look at him. He looks rather fit, in an olive green shirt that could be a size or two too small for him.
And I am tied to a table?
“Dexter?” I didn’t do anything! I swear it!
“Were you bit?” The man repeats himself, putting a bit of force behind his words.
“Bit?” I ask. “No? Maybe? I had a run-in with a dog when I was a kid?”
“This isn’t a joke. Last time, were you bit? Has anything bitten you in the last week?”
“No? What the hell?” Are wild dogs running amock? Werewolves?
I can make out a nod from the man. He has dark hair, cut short like a good military man.
“Who are you?” The man asks.
“I’m Ken-” No, you’re not Kenneth. “Uh… Michael. I’m Michael… Where am I? What’s going on?”
“You’re in our RV,” The man says. He pauses, staring at me, then seems to lighten up a little and softens his tone. “We found you laying in the street with a group of creepers. Are there more of you?”
“Creepers?” Goth kids? “More of me? No… no clones that I know of.” This dude is really weird. “Who are you?”
There is a long silence, then he steps out of the room for a moment. I pull on the restraint; maybe they’ve fallen off while we were talking. I hear voices but I can’t quite make them out, then the man returns.
“I’m John,” he says. “You hit your head and injured your leg, so we gave you some painkillers.” He pauses as he leans over me, reaching for my wrists. “Sort of. All we had was some liquid nighttime cold medicine with painkillers in it. We didn’t want you to choke on pills.”
That explains the weirdness.

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