FlashForward Fan Fiction - Two Minute Fix
Nine years ago the view from Doctor Spencer Monroe's office was a thing of beauty. The L-shaped corner workspace that overlooked the atrium brought him peace. The view was one of the very few perks Spencer received for taking on such a grueling job.
After loading the bookcase with what he considered vital reading material, Spencer strategically placed his over-sized side chair at the perfect angle to overlook the courtyard. From the third story, just the tips of the trees were viewable, but it was good enough for the naturalist in him.
Now just a day after the blackouts, Spencer could find no solace in his vantage point. The usual chirping of birds was replaced by silence. Claustrophobic patients used to escape the dense walls, retreating to the ample refugee. On this day they are forced to stay inside, shades drawn. Today orderlies are tasked with cleaning up the dozens of dead birds scattered about the foliage.
A deep knock resounded from the oak door. While the thick door keeps out undesired sound, a fist thudding on the portal to what many consider "doom" always startles Dr. Monroe, even after nine years.
"Come in." Monroe waited a brief moment, adding a single foot tap to his impatience. Something else he constantly forgot about the monstrous door: not only does it keep sound out, it keeps those outside from hearing the conversations within.
Monroe swung the door open, revealing an overweight and disheveled patient. Aldridge entered the room like he always did, quickly and without regard to Dr. Monroe's cordial greeting. After the first two years, Spencer decided to forgo the usually pleasantries and allow Aldridge to sit where ever he felt comfortable.
The choices for accommodations were bountiful; a lounge chair, a pair of table chairs overlooking the atrium, a maroon-leather couch adjacent to Monroe's favorite side-chair. On one occasion Monroe even let Aldridge sit behind his desk while Dr. Monroe sat in the patients seat. Today was unlike all others.
Aldridge entered briskly, knocking shoulders with Monroe as he passed. By the time that Monroe recovered from the bump and closed the door, he was taken aback to find Aldridge in the only seat he wasn't allowed.
Dr. Monroe's charcoal Allen-Edmonds knocked against the leg of his side chair. "You know better." His thick voice delivered an underlined message - Move or I'll move you.
"It's a special occasion, Doc." Aldridge pursed his lips, countering with his own message - I ain't movin'.
"What's the special occasion?" Spencer fought the urge to toss Aldridge through the plate glass window and into the courtyard. After all, the orderlies already had brooms and dustpans posed for cleanup.
"I suspect you won't be seeing me much longer."
"I've heard that before." Six years ago when Aldridge was 14, the sweet-faced teenager arrived home in time to witness the brutal stabbing of his mother in their kitchen. With no other family and evaluated as too high a risk to enter foster care, Aldridge entered a New York state ran psychiatric center.
Two years, half-a-dozen hospitals, and without a single word being uttered by the catatonic Aldridge, Monroe petitioned Royster Care Center to take in the struggling teenage boy.
Within less than six weeks, Dr. Monroe had broken through and managed to get Aldridge to start speaking again. The duo made enough of an improvement that on Aldridge's 18th birthday he passed the adult psychiatric exam and was free to leave.
Still suffering from horrible nightmares and the occasional mental lapse, Aldridge decided to check back into Royster after just a week. Using the massive inheritance he gained after his mother's death, Aldridge found the unchanging environment of the hospital comforting.
"I mean it this time, Spence."
"I'm allowing you to break one of my rules by sitting in my favorite chair. Don't break a second rule. You know my name is Dr. Monroe."
"In my vision I wasn't here." Aldridge leaned forward in his chair, excited for possibly the first time in six years. "There's a world out there that I'm missing out on."
"What do you think you're missing? A girlfriend? Children?"
"A job!" Aldridge's exuberance with the mundane brought a quick chuckle out of Monroe.
"What job would take you from our fine establishment?"
"I'm gonna be a chef, at some fancy restaurant."
"Which restaurant?"
Tilting his head back and staring momentarily at the ceiling, Aldridge was giving deep thought to which restaurant was in his vision.
"I don't know," Aldridge finally interjected. "There was fancy writing, like French or something. It doesn't really matter. The fact that I was a chef was enough. Maybe Cafe Boulud, or the Porter House, or Apple Bee's. You know, something fancy."
Aldridge's carefree attitude changed in an instant as his facial expression turned to earnest.
"Don't you get it, Doc? In two minutes more people were cured than all the shrinks in the entire world could help in their collective lifetimes."