Mr. Monk was My Landlord
A "Monk" Fanfic by SJO
Note: USA and NBC own "Monk," not me. I think this isn't against the rules. I didn't see anything that said "no diary-type entries are allowed." This is written like a diary. Technically, it's a blog, an online diary. It's still advancing a story, so it's not non-story material. And though I'm a big fan of "Monk," I've only been watching it for a short time. I might get some details wrong, so please be forgiving.
RareSequoia
Bio: I'm a 20-something-year-old female college student from California. I'm an English major, but I do NOT want to be a teacher! (That's probably my biggest pet peeve, people immediately assuming that I want to teach.) Actually, I want to be a writer. I know, I got to do something else besides that before I become world-famous. I haven't decided what that will be yet. I might be a teacher. I just don't know. Anyway, I live with my dad and my pet rabbit. Well, that's home base. I return like every other weekend to replenish supplies, recharge batteries, that sort of thing. I actually live in a dorm on campus with my roommate Joy. I work in the library. I like cartoons, court shows, game shows, music videos, stuff like that. Probably my favorite show is "The Simpsons." And next to my love of literature, I have a fascination with redwoods. (Hence the screen name.) Yeah, I'm in heaven up here in the bay area. I am a little lonely though. Making friends is difficult for me, but I'll explain why later. I guess I'll just say that I'm looking for one particular kind of person, a very rare kind.
October 15, 10:28 P.M.
Yawn
Mood: Exhausted
I've been working on my paper for American Short Fiction all day. It's printed and ready to go. I'm hoping this is a unique take on "Young Goodman Brown." Maybe my teacher will like it.
Joy's still not back from her social club initiation. I had no idea those things take so long.
Well, not much else to say.
October 16, 10:10 P.M.
You're Not Going to Believe This
Mood: Anxious
Man, what a day! See, I woke up, and I was surprised that Joy still wasn't back. Still, I wasn't too bothered. I got dressed, made my bed, washed my face, and got ready to go down for breakfast, and when I opened the door, there was a huge group of cops standing outside! They told me that Joy was murdered. I couldn't believe it. They didn't agree about how she died. Most of them said she was shot, but one guy said she suffocated. I'll tell you more about him later.
Anyhow, the police wanted to ask me some questions. So they put me down in this room. This guy with a mustache did much of the talking. He had a gruff voice. He gave me the creeps. And there was a tall guy with big eyes. He was taking notes. There was one woman who looked like she'd rather be somewhere else. And that guy who kept insisting that Joy suffocated was staring at me so creepily. It was like he was studying me. He was so intimidating! I didn't know a thing, but it seemed that everyone thought that I had something to do with this. And I kept thinking about my paper that was due in just a few minutes, but they wouldn't let me go! My brain just felt like it was going to explode!
And then, with perfect timing, the fire alarm went off. There was an alarm in that very room. I covered my ears and went straight for the door, but it was locked! I had a scene right there. I couldn't stop it. I felt like a two-year-old. But then, somebody unlocked the door and pushed me out. He spoke to me gently as soon as we were far away from the building and helped calmed me down. When I came to my senses, I realized it was that guy who was staring at me. I've been through a lot of fire drills and bells before, and nobody else has understood the pain and the fear I experience every time. I was so amazed.
He walked me to class when this whole ordeal was over. He explained that he had several phobias himself, and when he saw how afraid I was he could almost feel my fear. Gives a new meaning to "The only thing we have to fear itself," huh? He told me he didn't think I killed Joy. (He maybe the only one.) Yet he still thinks I could offer some information that might help the case. He says he plans to come back later. Great, more questions. I told them everything I knew! Why doesn't anybody understand that? I don't know if this guy's very good. He did figure out without my telling him somehow that I was an English major, but he also assumed that I wanted to teach.
On a positive note, I turned in my paper. It wasn't counted late. I feel good about it.
October 18, 9:57 P.M.
Guess Who Showed Up Again?
Mood: Curious
I had almost forgotten about what happened two days ago (well, I haven't forgotten that Joy is gone; I guess I'm in denial about that). But today, right after I was getting out of lunch, that guy came looking for me again. The only woman who was there the first time was with him too. She was nice. When I was panicking over the fire alarm, she gave me a cup of water which helped calm me a little. Her name's Natalie (rather juvenile name for a woman, isn't it?). I was surprised to find out that she wasn't really a cop. She worked for that guy as his assistant. Oh, and his name is Mr. Monk. (I thought about telling him that I had one of his Gregorian Chant CDs, but he's probably heard that one enough.) It was a lot more comfortable than last time. Natalie wanted to see the campus (she told me that maybe one day her daughter Julie might go there), and along the way Mr. Monk asked me questions about Joy. They didn't know that she was being initiated into a sorority. He seemed very interested in that information, anyway. He asked me a lot of questions about that particular club, and I told him that he was talking to the wrong person. I don't even like social clubs.
But this was when I really knew he was cool. We were passing by this kiosk, and he suddenly stopped, excused himself, ran to the kiosk, and started straightening the flyers. Watching him work made my fingertips itch. I even muttered to myself, "Dude, don't tempt me." Natalie heard me, and she apologized for his behavior. "It's just a thing he does," she said. So, it sounds like he was stimming! Well, if he could stim, I could stim. I joined him at the kiosk and offered my help. He gave me an awkward look and said he didn't need help. I told him he did; he had short fingernails. I went to the adjacent side and started ripping off loose pieces of Scotch tape. I also tore out old staples and picked off spare sticky tack and played with that a little. I moved some of the flyers around too, but I couldn't make them as neat as he could. I guess I don't have that gift. I moved around some of the loose push pins like he did, but instead of putting them in rows, I made them into a smiley face, a heart, and a message "Hi." He looked impressed at my work. Then he handed me a moist towlette. "You don't know what's underneath those pieces of tape," he said. He was probably right. I wiped my hands clean, and then I got out my watermelon-scented hand sanitizer just to make sure.
When he had all of the information he needed, Mr. Monk began to leave. But I asked him first if I could keep in touch with him. He's the first person I met who isn't afraid to stim in public like that. Maybe he's not NT. I asked for his e-mail, but he told me that he didn't get along very well with computers. But he gave me his card, rather reluctantly. I hope I'll hear from him soon.
10:05 P.M.
Off the Hook!
Mood: Relieved
Music: "Hallelujah Chorus"
I just a call from the captain of the San Francisco police department. I recognized his voice. He was the guy with the mustache that lead the investigation. He said the case is closed, and I'm no longer a suspect! He told me who really killed Joy, but I didn't know them. I asked him about my new friend, and he just said in a huff that Mr. Monk did solve the case, like always. Like always? Wow, he must be pretty good. And like he said, she was suffocated before she was shot. Huh, I wonder why they didn't catch it?
Video Tape AM0324 (excerpt, edited to protect anonymity)
Dr. Charles Kroger
9:00 A.M. October 20, 20–
Adrian seemed rather worried this weekthat is more worried than usual. I tried to put him at ease by discussing some small talk, asking him how Natalie is, etc. He was very reluctant to talk, so I decided here to discuss a recent case that got considerable media attention, dealing with the murder of a college student:
"So, I saw on the news that you helped solve that (name of school deleted) University case."
"Yeah."
"How'd that go?"
"It was . . ." (Adrian paused and looked away) "different."
"Different? How?"
Adrian did not immediately answer but fidgeted in his chair and looked in the window. I decided to pose another question.
"I, I hear that, that there was a discrepancy about how she died."
At this, Adrian seemed to become more himself. "Yes. I knew when I first saw her body that she had been suffocated. I thought it was obvious. But she had a huge bullet wound in her chest, and nearly everyone assumed that she died as a result of the shot."
"That's not like the captain to neglect something like that."
"Yeah, I still don't understand it. Of course, my assessment was confirmed, and I learned from her roommate that the victim was in the middle of a sorority hazing. We did some checking around and found out there was a pillow fight that went horrible awry. They tried to cover their tracks and make it look like she was gunned down."
"Yes, I know about that. That's terribly tragic. But what is it that is so different?"
Adrian sighed, "It's the roommate. Her name is Sue (last name deleted). She's a senior, an English major. She just . . . she's just . . . she's, she's very familiar to me."
"You think you've met her before?"
"No, I mean that she's a lot like me. It's scary."
"In what way?"
"Well, when we first questioned her, I could tell that she was terrified."
"Well, anybody who was being accused of murder–"
"Yeah, I know, but it was beyond that. She never looked the captain in the eyes. He thought she was hiding something, and maybe she was lying. But I could just tell, she was trying very hard and, she, she just couldn't do it. And then they were testing the fire alarms and this fire alarm went off. She broke down and panicked. I helped her get out of the building and calmed her down. I talked to her again the other day. Natalie wanted to see the campus, so we took a walk. On the way, we passed this billboard column thing, and I had to straighten it. I didn't think much of it. That's what I always do, right?"
"Yeah."
"Well, Sue did something I don't recall anybody ever doing."
"What?"
"She helped me!"
"Did she?"
"Yeah. She took two sides, and I took two. She did pretty good. And while we were working, she told me that she was proud of me. She said stuff like this always bugged her, but she was always discouraged from doing this kind of thing because it was, quote-unquote, 'socially unacceptable.'"
"Well, let's be honest. It is."
"Oh, come on, Dr. Kroger. I'm trying to reach out to people here."
"I know. I understand."
"But at any rate, she was doing the same thing with the same kind of motive. So it seems that she also has something wrong with her."
"Well, it doesn't automatically mean she's obsessive compulsive."
"But she has obsessive compulsive behavior. Except she called it something different. She called it a . . . stim."
"A stem?"
"No, no, 'stim.' She has a hint of a southern accent. You could tell that was an 'I.' Do you know what that means?"
"Hmm, I feel like I've heard it before." (I think about it for a minute) "Oh yeah! It-it-it's shorthand for 'self-stimulating behavior.' It means repetitive motor movement. Um, I'm not sure if, if, if it's exactly like what you do, but it's close."
"Where would she get a term like that?"
I pause again. "I'm not sure. I'll recheck my notes. So did anything else along this line happen?"
"Well, she was evidently intrigued that we had that in common. She asked if she talk to me from time to time."
"Really?"
Adrian nods, "She wants my advice. It's almost like she's asking me to be you. What's it like to be you?"
"Adrian, I don't think you need to think about it that way."
"Well, she is taking great measures. She told me when I first met her that she was very uncomfortable talking on the phone. And two days ago, she asked me for my phone number."
"Did she?"
"Yes. She asked for my e-mail first, but of course, I couldn't–"
"Yeah, of course."
"So, she sounds pretty serious about this, you know, with facing something that she doesn't find particularly comfortable."
"Yeah, maybe."
"Should I . . . charge her?"
"What?"
"For my advice. I mean, that's my job, isn't it? I'm a private consultant!"
"I don't think she's looking for a consultant, a therapist, or even just an advisor. She's looking for a friend, Adrian. You can't put a price on friendship."
"You really think . . ."
"Sure."
"Is that smart? I mean, most people who considered themselves my friend . . . well, it usually doesn't end up well."
"What about me?"
"You're my therapist."
"I've been your therapist for almost ten years now. But I'm also your friend. I think I am. Don't you?"
"I guess so."
"Wh-why don't you call Sue, maybe tonight? You can just ask her yourself what she needs."
Adrian paused and looked away again, then responded, "All right, I will."
I am not exactly sure what vexes Adrian so much about Sue, but I will be very interested to hear more about this new relationship
(End tape AM0324)
October 20, 9:48 P. M.
It Worked!
Mood: Friendly
We're coming along in Modern Poetry. We're about to cover Robert Frost, my favorite! William Butler Yates was cool too, though.
You know, Mr. Monk acted very apprehensive when I asked him for a way to contact him. I was afraid he wouldn't want much more to do with me anymore. But around 7:00 tonight, he called me! He wanted to know what I was expecting when I asked him for advice. I told him that I was different from everybody else, and I could tell that he was too. I said everybody else was so NT. He didn't know what that meant! He thought I said "empty." I told him that it meant "neurologically typical." Then he seemed to catch on. I just wanted to know what it's like to live his life, just so I can take some confidence in knowing that I'm not alone. He told me he liked that. We talked for about an hour. He has a pretty exciting life! He told me some of his recent adventures. It's almost like reading O. Henry. You don't know what to expect. I told him about some of the things I've been studying. It wasn't nearly as interesting as his life, but he seemed to think it was interesting anyway. He made some observations I hadn't considered before, and I actually told him some things he didn't think of.
It ended kinda funny. I said something really off the wall. I think I said, "Well, there's more than one way to skin a cat, right?" And he was stone quiet. I tried to prompt a response, and then suddenly he whispered, "More than one way to . . . I got it! I know how he did it!" Then he asked me if he could call me back. I said, "Hey, did I just help you solve a case?" And he said, "I think so." Cool! I rock!
Maybe this is the beginning of a good friendship. I hope so.