"What do you want?"
I turned to look at the vibrant redhead, curious. "What do you mean?"
Her hazel eyes fixed me with a cold stare. "Exactly what I said. What do you want?"
I was just thinking that I had no idea what she was talking about, or in fact who and where I was or what I was doing, when my mouth opened and I replied. "I want my screwdriver."
My brows furrowed in confusion. "Do I? Yes I do. How extraordinary. Which screwdriver's that, then?"
She'd gone pale- well, paler, which made her freckles stand out- but her mouth was set in a stubborn frown. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes you do, don't lie. I can always tell when you're lying." Again, my mouth had surprised the rest of me. "Why does it keep doing that?" I wondered quietly.
She lifted her head, out of equal parts quiet fear and pure orneriness. "I'm not lying."
But she wasn't on my mind anymore. Not that she was boring, there was just other stuff that needed looking at. I turned around to inspect the room. Apparently I was standing in the living room of a small house. Ah yes, standing. With my legs. I had legs? Yes, I did. Brilliant!
Back to the room- it was a nice place. Tidy. Looked like it belonged to a young married couple, probably with a baby. But something felt... wrong. Out of place. Why? What was it? I leaned forward to inspect a fascinating painting and was just turning around to speak to the redhead when something hard connected with my skull. Quite forcefully, too, might I just say.
I had scarcely begun to realize this when my legs began to wobble and I fell, sinking into the depths of oblivion. But a question was trying to form in my shutting-down brain.
What-?