Chapter 5: The Hospi-toils

At the end of the school day, Audrey approached Plotter, looking quite concerned. "My, my. You don't look well at all," she said, putting a hand to his forehead.

"But I feel fine!" Harried insisted.

"Oh no, you look terrible," Tony agreed, pulling out his stethoscope. "Good thing you're bunking in with us at the Hospi-toil house tonight."

"I think he needs to lie down right away," said Alan, appearing with a stretcher.

"Wait just a minute here!" cried Plotter. "There's nothing wrong with me!"

Alan ran the stretcher into the back of Plotter's legs, causing Harried to fall backwards onto it. Tony quickly strapped him down, as Monica appeared with a big syringe.

"Don't worry about a thing, Mr. Plotter," Monica said, jabbing the needle into his arm. "This is just going to numb you up a bit, to keep you from struggling."

"It's for your own good, you know," said Audrey, patting his other arm.

Amidst Plotter's cries of protest, the band of medics sped down the hall with their charge, sometimes 'accidentally' hitting the gurney up against the stone walls.

"Sorry," said Tony, in a not-very-sorry tone, "I guess we're a little rusty at this..."

They rounded another corner and came upon a portrait of Edward sitting in a large stuffed chair, scowling at the scene in front of him.

"What on earth is going on here?" he asked.

"We're trying to save this man's life, Edward," said Monica. "Now move aside and let us pass..."

Edward leaned over in his chair, regarding the 'victim' with a skeptical gaze. "What happened Plotter? Were the Hold-the-door's appetizers too much for you?"

"I keep telling you all...I'M NOT SICK!" he wailed.

"Sure you are," assured Alan. "You've got all the symptoms of a major neurological disorder..."

"...confusion, incomplete thoughts, lost time, amnesia..." Tony counted on his fingers as he listed Plotter's symptoms.

"WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!" Harried cried.

"See what I mean?" said Tony, as the group surrounding him nodded somberly.

"What are you going to do, Doctors?" asked Audrey.

"I'm going to have to operate," said Tony, looking into Plotter's ear, "I think I can see a big, nasty tumor in there..."

"And I'm going to assist," said Alan.

"And I'm going to monitor his heart, if I can find it" said Monica, peeking under Plotter's sheet.

"Very funny," said Plotter, wishing the sorting shorts would speak up at last and get him out of this mess. But they remained silent, as always.

"So Edward, are you going to open up, or not?" asked Audrey.

Edward folded his arms obstinately. "What's the password?" he inquired.

"It's my house!" said Monica.

"And I gave it to her!" said Alan.

"Oh, alright," said Edward, as the painting swung open. "But don't you go blowing the hospital's budget on him. I'm telling you, he's a hopeless case..."

The Hospi-toil's common room was actually an OR suite with an assortment of tables, their contents covered with sterile cloths. Amy Vining stood waiting, with a clipboard in her hand.
"So, are we ready for our surgery?" she said, sweetly.

"No, WE aren't," replied Plotter, now quite annoyed.

"Better add multiple personalities to the list of symptoms," said Alan. Tony nodded and made a note in Plotter's chart.

"I know what this is all about, you know," said Plotter, looking from person to person. "I'm a writer; I'm familiar with allegory." More familiar now than I ever cared to be, he added, mentally.

"Good for you," mocked Tony, "I'm a neurosurgeon; I'm familiar with sharp, painful objects." He picked up a scalpel and let it glint in the light.

Harried gulped.

Tony laughed maniacally. "This is the way you like me, isn't it? All crazy and dangerous, kidnapping babies and disrupting the Nurses' Ball..."

"But...but...you're not that way anymore!"

Tony gave him an incredulous look. "Really? How did that happen?" He pulled up a chair to Plotter's stretcher and leaned over the side rail. "When exactly did I have my epiphany? What road of recovery did I travel to get to where I am today?"

"Well, there was Lucas. You wanted to be a father to him again. And then Jason broke your hand. And then...um...."

"Having a little difficulty filling in the blanks, are you? That's because there's so damned many of them!" he cried. "When you tired of my tirades, when they no longer served to advance Carly's and Jason's story, I just kind of...stopped. And then you put me back on the shelf, like a toy you had grown tired of, hauling me out once a month or so to play baby-sitter to Lucas, or patch someone up in the ER."

"Just like you did to me, too," added Alan. "After I went through that quickie detox, it was back to the back-burner for good, apparently."

"That's right," agreed Monica, "if it weren't for the fact that we're Jason's parents, or that our other son happened to marry Carly, we'd probably never be seen again..."

"JASON, JASON, JASON! It's always about Jason, isn't it?"

Monica and Harried exchanged a look, unsure which one of them was the actual target of Alan's Jan Brady-esque outburst.

"What about your fertility story?" asked Plotter.

"What about it?" responded Monica and Alan, in unison.

"Point taken," said Plotter, with a sigh. "I'll admit, it's difficult to write for you. It's even more difficult pitching a story for you all given the fact that you don't...um...fit with the desired viewer demographic." He winced, realizing once again that he was reciting one of the Disneys' favorite lines.

"So," said Audrey, "all you're interested in is garnering the viewership of a certain audience in a certain age group?"

"They're interested," Plotter corrected, "the Disneys. Me, I just don't know..."

"That's pretty narrow thinking, isn't it?" asked Tony. "I mean, catering to only one group of people? And what if that group wants to watch more than one type of character?"

"I told you, I don't know," said Plotter, growing weary of the interrogation.

Audrey walked forward and patted Harried on the arm. "We should let him get some rest," she said to the others. "Besides, I don't think we'll ever know whose fault things really are. And at this point it really doesn't matter, does it?"

Tony nodded in agreement and put the scalpel down.

"So, you're not going to operate?" asked Harried, relieved.

"Nah," said Tony. "I think we've picked at your brain enough."

"And I take it that I don't really have a brain tumor."

Tony laughed. "Well, not a dangerous one anyway. But you just might have some vivid dreams for a while..."

With that, they released Harried and administered an antidote for the numbing medicine. Plotter stretched his arms and legs gratefully and followed the others off to the sleeping quarters.

On to Chapter 6

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