Part 1: A dreadlocked newcomer
"Whoa, that's good shit. I knew it was a good idea to come out to Colorado and start a new chapter in my life but, I should've come here sooner If I had known there was ganja here like this."
Dr. Cosima Niehaus (with her generic white lab coat, nose ring, thick horn-rimmed glasses and the aforementioned dreads) decided to start her first day at Glenwood Springs Sanitarium by indulging in a habit that in other states would have her arrested (and likely jailed with the amount that she had on her at the time) but in Colorado, was completely legal. She took a cash advance to re-locate here that not only covered her travel expenses, but allowed her to buy a quarter pound of Marijuana from the nearby Walgreen's to celebrate her new job and surroundings. She was smoking a joint that contained roughly 1/8th of an ounce at the moment (or 2 dimebags in street slang) as she had some anxiety issues since she scored a perfect 1600 on her SAT'S...
...at the tender age of 9. From there she was put in accelerated classes, culminating about 11 years later in the form of 2 P.H.D's before she could legally drink alcohol. 1 in Evolutionary Developmental Biology, the other in Abnormal Psychology. The difficulty for her in choosing a field lead to her pursuing both simultaneously at Yale (graduating summa cum laude in both). She took another drag on the joint she was smoking and looked down at a file that was on the front passenger seat of her 2012 Electric Volkswagen Beetle. It was Manila, about 2 inches thick and the kind of patient 1 dreams of after third year university.
"It's about time I review the file of 1 of the most known psychiatric patients in the world. For fuck's sakes, my classmate Dr. Bronnikova has been on his case for years."
She opened the file for Mr. Aaron Collins, a patient inside the Sanitarium with an extensive history. First documented suicide attempt before his 6th birthday, Autism, rapid-cycling bipolar disorder, avoidant personality disorder and persistent depressive disorder were diagnosed to him before he was 14 and he had a few other diagnoses pending. There was also a long list of medications (Meloril, Paxil, the entire "-pam" family and even including an experimental study with Heroin, of all things) and therapies tried that never worked for him past 6 weeks (in fact, other than primal scream and electroshock, all other therapies were useless in under a month), all of which was ceased in 1998 when it was discovered that he became docile when writing.
"Dude, that's complex" whispered Dr. Niehaus as she exhaled.
He wasn't stupid either, he negotiated (and got) a private room and free reign to write whatever he pleased in exchange for extended co-operation in figuring him out internally via 1-on-1 interviews.
"7286 worlds, each one containing at least 1 short story, novella or full-length novel. And all are connected through him. In the name of Charles Darwin, if it weren't for how messed up he was he'd be beyond me in raw academic achievement. He even writes faster than that guy in Maine. I look forward to working with him."
Looking at her clock located on the front dashboard of her new car and seeing it was 3 minutes before her start time, She finished her joint and headed inside, once inside she was taken aback by the decor. It was blue, burgundy and silver as opposed to the standard whites in other hospitals and labs that she worked in (the colours of the Colorado Avalanche hockey logo, but Cosima was oblivious to that fact, not being much into sports).
"Oh Dr. Niehaus, you made it right on time."
The gentleman who said that was a man in his sixties. Short grey hair, well over 6 feet in height. Dr. Niehaus knew him from both his accent (New England, Maryland if her instinct served her) and from his two-pronged hatred of retirement (he still felt less than half of his actual age) and hatred of the Military-Industrial complex seemingly dominating America (a colleague of his who could be best described as an urban poet with a love for writing about body counts, once observed that he could smell a conspiracy at a 5-year old's lemonade stand, and he was flattered with that sentiment). Still, he was quite successful with businesses in both Maryland and New York and only works as a doctor to pass the time.
"Dr. John Munch, the Psychiatrist who cracked the FDA scandal. What are you doing riding the front desk?"
She of course, was referring to his FDA's secret attempts to sneak cocaine into Ritalin in an effort to improve its efficiency back in 2002. In the 12 short years that followed he was given the Presidential medal of freedom and the Nobel prizes for both peace and chemistry. Of course, being the quiet radical that he was, he anonymously donated the money he received from those prizes to the Assassinations Accountability Review Board in an effort to declassify the last of the JFK assassination documents...but no one else knew that.
"We've been short staffed for the last 36 hours, that's partly why we sped up your transfer, actually. I have your ID card ready for you."
It was a White and Green laminated card exactly the size of a credit card with a Photo of her on it from her previous post in Minnesota, along with a simple Barcode to get into any room in the sanitarium. A red-haired woman approximately Cosima's age then came from behind Dr. Munch and interjected:
"Sorry Dr. Munch, I had to inject my insulin. I can ride the front desk now, thanks for covering for me."
"My pleasure. Shall we, Dr. Niehaus?"
Cosima nodded as they headed down a hallway to the west wing. A few of the patients in their path were drawn to Cosima's dreadlocks and nose piercing, but she paid them no attention.
"How is it possible that he's written so much?" asked Dr. Niehaus.
"Aversion to group therapy sessions, a completely random and short sleep cycle and an almost inhuman level of focus. Although sometimes I think there's something or someone else at work with his works." replied Dr. Munch in a manner that suggests that he's given that answer more than a few times in the past. At the first hallway intersection, they were joined by 2 more doctors. One as tall as Dr. Munch but with stringy dirty-blonde hair and a more...erratic and brightly coloured sense of fashion. The other one was shorter (only 2 inches taller than Cosima, three if you count the high platforms on her shoes) and had his hair nearly identical to Dr. Munch (closely cropped, only chestnut brown instead of grey). It was the tall doctor who spoke first:
"Morning Dr. Munch. Welcome, Dr. Niehaus. I'm Dr. Link"
"Link? Interesting last name." replied Dr. Niehaus
Link chuckled slightly "Actually it's a nickname given to me by the patients. I encourage patients therapy by making them link their words and actions to each other. Which really helps with the Autistic patients because of their..."
"...penchant for patterns anyway. I've heard this explanation a few times too many I think. Hi, I'm Dr. Tommy Westphall."
Cosima shook both of their hands and continued walking with them. "It's an honour to meet you Tommy Westphall. Sorry that your work in Psychic Energy hit a dead end."
"Oh no need. I went back to school and became an English Teacher. They keep me on the payroll here to teach literacy to the patients. I've even gotten a few of the patients who have been discharged jobs."
They made a left turn at the next available intersection, Dr. Westphall continued talking:
"It was actually my idea to give Aaron the idea of a multiverse. I think he made me an Autistic character in 1 of his stories where a hospital similar to this one was just a snowglobe that I looked at."
"At least you weren't some caveman found in some guy's pool." replied Dr. Link
"Well he got me...as close to perfect as he could. Although I have no interest in working as a police officer." added Dr. Munch
"Wow, what's next? Me as a Clone?" Asked Cosima with more than a hint of sarcasm.
They reached room 131, the only private room in the minimum security wing. They were in a room with all white walls, 1 window overlooking the Rocky Mountains on the north wall, a large mirror on the east wall, a steel door on the south wall, and boxes upon boxes stacked on top of each other on the south wall. Aaron's bed in the middle of the room, and one would still have 7-8 feet from each edge of the bed to the wall. Something immediately flashed into Dr. Link's memory:
"Right, I forgot. They took Aaron to Fitzsimmons today, he was overdue for a physical. Several doctors went with him, hence the shortage today."
Cosima stood in complete awe at the boxes of stories for several minutes. "How 1 person could write all of this and file everything by types of stories and then by number of Aaronworlds?" she thought to herself.
"Normally I'd hand you his Journals to help you get started. He gave us permission to borrow them at will. But there's a note on the bed." said Dr. Munch in observation. It was Dr. Westphall who read it aloud:
To whom it may concern,
Sorry to not be here in person but I do require my quarterly pokes and prods. I'm unsure as to when I'll be back but I overheard that the hospital is a little light financially last night and I think I can help. I'm not comfortable with licensing any of my full-length novels to you guys just yet but if you took about a dozen or so of my shorter works and released them to the general public, you can take half the proceeds to finance the hospital and funnel the other half into a bank account for my family to be distributed amongst them equally on the occasion of my death. I think we can all agree that I owe them that much. I'm putting a lot of trust in you guys, don't let me down.
Sincerely,
Aaron
Cosima looked briefly at the other 3 doctors in the room and muttered "I say we pick 3 each in the short story boxes. Whoever's been here the longest should pick first. I'll go last as I'm flying blind either way."
Dr. Westphall took the lead, with everyone setting each box in the stack labelled "Short Stories" in a row so that everyone had easy access "OK, let's start low. 79, then let's pick a middle number...1066 should do. Maybe one a little higher, 1666 sounds about right. OK Dr. Link, you're next."
Dr. Link nodded and briefly stared at the boxes before he started picking "Let's take a triple digit one to start, 301 looks good. Now a couple of 4-digit stories. 1185 and...1783. You're up, Dr. Munch."
Dr. Munch smiled and nodded, "I'll follow your lead Link, a triple-digit and 2 4-digits. 601...1259 and 1856. Dr. Niehaus, you're next."
Cosima nodded, but applied some order to the chaos. "My 2 favourite numbers are 7 and 9 so I'll take 779. 7 and 9 make 16 so I'll take 1456 next as all 4 digits make 16. Oh to hell with math, I'll take 1963 last. It's the year each of my adopted parents were born."
Cosima was then overcome with an urge that she grew used to in light of her pot-smoking. That urge was the munchies. "So...where's the cafeteria?"
Part 2: Breakfast of Champions
With their prime patient not physically there and order to the sanitarium having been restored (they borrowed some doctors from South Park), they decided to share a meal together, and short of having the duties of other doctors dumped on them, would likely take the afternoon off. They picked the cafeteria booth in the back corner that one takes when they don't wish to be disturbed. A male nurse quietly left them 4 menus and then took his leave.
"So, does anyone know a good publisher?" asked Dr. Niehaus as she looked at breakfast options.
Drs. Link and Westphall shook their heads, making their meal choices quickly. Dr. Munch however, raised his hand. "I know one in Denver, he's been publishing my conspiracy theories in novel form under an assumed name for over 20 years. It'll take a while to explain to him that 1 of my patients wants to take his stories public. But I trust him with my life. He'll even see to Aaron's requests re: money distribution.
A waiter came by, a tall blonde with a noticeable French accent. "Shall I take your order?
"Vegetarian juevos rancheros, please." asked Cosima, taken aback by how beautiful the waitress was.
"Steak and Eggs for me." added Dr. Link
"I'll have what he's having." replied Dr. Westphall, pointing his thumb at Dr. Link
"Just Lox and Bagels for me, thank you." added Dr. Munch
The waitress nodded (and discreetly winked at Cosima) and left after writing down their orders. No one paid attention to what may have been love at first sight.
"I think I'm going to like it here in Colorado." whispered Cosima.
"Dr. Munch, why don't you put the stories in order by Aaronworld number, it might make an easier sell?" asked Dr. Westphall.
"I agree." added Dr. Link
Dr. Munch nodded and began putting the stories in that order. "OK, all set." he announced 2 minutes later before putting the stories underneath his seat to prevent food stains.
"Hope the floor is clean." wondered Dr. Westphall aloud.
"It looks OK to me" replied Dr. Link
Their breakfast came and went without anymore relevant conversation, after the meal they settled their accounts (hospitals in Colorado give expense accounts to Doctors that are only good on hospital grounds). They headed back to the main desk to check the rest of their schedules:
"I'm clear. Guess I'm running off to Denver." announced Dr. Munch, who left quickly after nodding at the other 3.
"OK, we're stuck here all day. We've got that new girl who thinks that she's still living in Victorian England, hell of a Violin player though. I wonder which doctors dropped it on us" said Dr. Link who motioned towards Dr. Westphall. They bowed slightly at Dr. Niehaus.
"I'll head back to Aaron's room to put the boxes back in order, since we all forgot. Then I should probably start filling out the paperwork for my benefits and such." said Dr. Niehaus quietly to her self, almost as a mumble.
"Wow, I think they were lighter 2 hours ago. If I didn't know any better I would say that there are more stories in here." thought Dr. Niehaus. She dismissed it and looked down at her watch, the time read 9:37am.
"Wow, I should be out of here and home by 1pm. Guess I can have a lunchtime joint"
She quickly walked out of Aaron-prime's room, oblivious to the fact that a new story materialized in 1 of the boxes out of thin air.