Vows, Jack decided, were his favorite types of thoughts: far better than oaths, swears, pledges, or contracts.
“Where the hell am I?” thought Jack, as his mind snapped back to the present like the elastic on his underwear.
“Yes, yes, I’m driving along, gotta lose these cops that are chasing me. Where am I headed again?”
“Zeibarts… McDonalds… Oh! I know where I am, but I’m heading the wrong direction!”
Xylophone music blared in Jack’s appendix, and Jack had to scream over the noise. “Have I been drugged?” “Maybe someone slipped you some milk,” Jack responded. “Very funny. I think these hallucinations are getting worse.” “Duly noted,” Jack duly noted, just before he lost control of the car, which slammed promptly into a pole.
Amnesia resulted from the accident, leaving poor Jack, like Amberlei, unable to get the alphabet right.
But Jack knew that, before he got bogged down in self-criticism over his alphabetizing skills, he’d need to get as far away from the busted-ass Bronco with the single black glove on the floor as possible.
“Creak,” went the leather upholstery as he crawled across what was left of the car’s front seat. He began to open the side door, and froze. Why was he in the wrecked car? Who’s car was it? Why was he trying to get out? Why did he have an earth-shaking headache? He strained his mind for answers, but grasped at straws.
Dizzy and confused he cralwed clear of the wreckage.
(Gadfly, one sentence per the OP… Two will get by… Paragraphs are pushing the limits a bit much)
Dazedly, and desperately clutching a handful of straws, Jack pushed the car door open, to find Detective Underwood standing just outside the car door.
“Eek!”, Jack shrieked.
‘fried ice cream, jack?’ said underwood with a sneer, shoving the ice cream into jack’s mouth, ‘i hear you like dairy…’
“Gah!” Jack yelled through his ice-cream filled mouth, as Detective Underwood pulled off a mask to reveal the face of Mr. Sneckenbarger.
“Had me, you would have, if it weren’t for my meddling kids”, sneered Mr. Sneckenbarger, as his older child pulled the spike strip up from the road.
“I don’t understand, Nathan,” Jack said dazedly. “Why are you talking like Yoda?”
“Just watch this incedental flashback scene, and all will become clear.”
King Crimson’s “Court of the Crimson King” drifted through Jack’s ears as his vision became blurry and the scene changed…
Later:
Jack: “I understand now! My name is really Lemming… of the BDA! I was sent here to uncover a secret plot to steal fillings!”
Mr. Sneckenbarger: “Oh, no. Someone put on the wrong flashback reel.”
“Maybe I will have to explain the situation the old way, without flashbacks,” he said.
“Now talk, you bastard!” cried Jack, leaping to his feet.