"Heyy..." Jon's voice was groggy and slurred, and try as he could to stir he could hardly lift his head and keep his eyes open. How drugged was he? "Heeeyyyy..."
"Oh, brother, he's awake," one of the voices said. "Hang on a second."
"What's going on here?" Jon slurred. "Where am I? What are you..."
"No questions, son. You shouldn't be up." Jon suddenly felt something in his arm: a needle, jabbing in. It was the last sensation he had before drifting back again into the void.
Biff woke up to the sound of a deeply annoying foreign alarm. Jon's alarm, he realized eventually, once pulled back to wakefulness. He reached over to clock and picked it up off the table turning it over and inspecting it, looking angrily for the button to turn the unfamiliar thing off. Eventually, he just yanked the plug out from the wall. "God damn it..."
Biff felt like shit that morning, having only gotten to sleep less than 2 hours ago, in his shoes, shorts hastily chosen the night before, and the undershirt he typically slept in, while in someone else's bed, on top of the slowly settling stress that his family may have just been stolen and the confusion over what had happened in this room the night before. This marked the first night he had slept with a kitchen knife in one hand, and Biff almost cut himself on it when he rose from bed. Biff slid it under the pillow for now.
Despite everything, Biff's first instinct was to get dressed as if it were any usual morning. That instinct didn't last long, as the only clothes on hand were Jon's old wardrobe, and even putting aside how weird it was to wear another man's outfit, Biff Meadows the football Jock was a much bigger guy than the average Jon Madison, and anything in the wardrobe would be much too small for him to wear.
I could maybe run back to my own house and grab an outfit, Biff thought, and come to think of it I probably need to get back there anyway. This was before he recalled that the workers had completely emptied and whitewashed his room when they took Jon, and had probably taken every outfit except the one on Biff's own back with them. Biff sighed frustratedly; there was still merit in going back there anyway, but Biff would have to solve the outfit problem another way.
Biff plopped down onto the bed and took a look around Jon's room. Or, his room, maybe? Unless the woman was harder of sight and hearing than Biff could've imagined, there was no way she could've accidentally mistaken Biff for Jon, yet she acted as though him sleeping there was the most logical thing in the world! And this was most certainly Jon's room; there hadn't been a van sent to this house that he could see, so they couldn't have possibly changed anything, right?
Nonetheless, Biff's curiousity was lit anew, and again he took it on himself to search the room again. This time he had something in mind when looking around: he wanted to find some evidence that would unequivocally show this room as Jon Madison's. He wanted an ID or a wallet or a note with Jon's name on it or something. Wasn't there a note with that weird rock he saw? Or maybe he could look through Jon's book bag?
Any way about it, Biff had to work fast; the rest of the house would be waking up with him.
