Never As It Seems

Strange Coincidences

When Flames woke up, he didn't know where he was. He didn't know a single thing that had happened, in fact; one moment he had been grappling with the force of a deranged policeman and the next he was alone, in a darkened room, lying on a bed. Somewhere. It could be anywhere, really. It definitely wasn't anywhere near the thrift store, or anywhere near the downtown area at all; it was quiet, save for the lone calls of birds out the window, and there was no sign of any sort of population nearby. It would have been almost eerie if Flames weren't used to things that were much, much more bizarre. 

He tilted his head to the side, and squinted as he attempted to ignore a sharp influx of pain shooting through his neck. The bed, twin-sized and covered with a purple blanket, was positioned in the center of the room; on the left side was a small dresser and lamp, and if he tilted his head to the right (which proved to be difficult, as he quickly found he had a pounding headache) he saw very much the same thing, although there was more space behind it. There was also a door and a television set in the front of the room; the television set was turned off and the door was firmly shut. Not a whole lot of clues as to where he was. He settled his head back on to the pillow and sighed.  

He lied there in the darkness, resting his head, waiting for something, anything to occur, so he could finally get a clue as to what was actually happening.  

Finally, as he was just about to drift off to sleep again, the door creaked open. He jerked up his head to see who the perpetrator was; unfortunately, as it was still dark, he could only see a faint silhouette. 

"Mom?" he whispered. "Is that you?" 

"Shh," the person said. "Don't get up. Stay still." 

His eyes widened. He knew that voice; he knew it very well. He had heard it almost every day for years and years, and most of the time in the past few days. It was the voice of Annmarie.  

"I -" he said weakly.  

"Shh!" He could see her walking towards him, and she tripped over something. "Ow! Damn room, it's never clean. Here, I'm coming." 

He waited as she walked over to him. She reached the narrower side of the bed and leaned against it to peer at him.  

"Okay, hon, I'm going to turn on the light now. I bet you've still got a headache, but I need to talk to you and I'm not liking the fact that I can't see you. It's kind of disconcerting, you know what I mean?" 

His last thought before she reached over and turned the lamp on was that in all the time that they had been dating Annmarie had never, ever called him hon.  

She flicked it on and her face was illuminated with light. She squinted and turned away, and looked at him. Flames gaped. 

This was not how he had left Annmarie outside the thrift store. This had to be a different Annmarie, or else something very weird had happened when he had been knocked out. The Annmarie that he had left behind had been wearing a pair of sunglasses, a purple sundress, and a Fedora, which despite her many complaints he had thought she looked rather nice in. This Annmarie, however, was not wearing any of those, but rather a crimson minidress that looked as if its sole purpose was to be worn for fancy parties; her hair was loosely tied up and sticking up in odd places, and was probably a messier version of a hairstyle that had previously been much nicer.  

"Ann!" he yelped. 

She extended her index finger and brought it to his lips. "Shh! I told you not to over exert yourself. You should listen to what I'm saying more often, occasionally I say some good advice." She smiled at him. 

He continued to stare. Her smile faltered. "What is it?" 

"What the heck are you doing here? What am I doing here? Where are Adam and Rick and the policeman dude? And what's with your dress?"