I awoke at the carnival. I immediately knew where I was; on the carousel because I was spinning slowly around while blue and red lights revolved around the room. A carny worker was bending over me, only inches away, saying something over and over again. I slowly opened one eye with the firm intent to tell him to get lost. He was wearing a shirt and his unfastened necktie was hanging in my face.
"Shit," he yelled loudly. "I got blood on my tie! It's a Hermes. My wife bought it and she'll kill me."
He rose above me as I strained to open my other eye. I was flat on my back on a stretcher and there were a number of people in the room, most with flashlights, all seemingly talking at the same time.
"Hey, fella . . . you awake? Take it easy, they'll get to you out of here."
I turned far enough to one side to see the lump of a body scarcely two feet away from me. Figures with rubber gloves were turning him over. Behind him, to the far right, I could see the front door was off its hinges, wrested to a strange angle. In the hall beyond, most of the murmured conversation was taking place as feet tromped around the house.
"Hey, Jackson," someone yelled. "Leave the guy alone until we get him to the hospital. You know the rules."
The figure above me answered. "He isn't hurt that bad. I just want to know what the fuck went down around here."
"My throat's . . . slit," I gurgled as I reached up my hand and felt a sticky mess.
"No, just cut some. You're not dying or anything . . . just won't be gargling for a while. I guess you took one on the head too."
"Ribs," I said, putting my hand to my side."
He ignored me. "This is your house, isn't it?" I shook my head. It hurt to talk.
"What are you doing here? Robbing it?" More head shaking but it wasn't enough. He was looking for an answer.
"Owner's mother died . . . in California. Picking up clothes for him."
"How did you get in?"
"Key." One word answers were easier.
Suddenly, the room was ablaze with light. A voice some distance away mentioned a circuit breaker. I squinted several times.
"Who's you friend here?" He waved a thumb at the body being worked on. "You want to tell me about it?"
"Is he dead?" I managed to gurgle.
"Yep. Was he a friend of yours?"
"Never saw him before," I got out before a wave of nausea flooded in and I erupted again. Jackson, I presume was his name, jumped up.