I'm Listening
by Nigel G. Mitchell

Frasier Crane sat in a darkened radio booth, a microphone pointed into his face. He was running his fingers through his thinning hair, groaning softly to himself as a voice filled the chamber.

" ...so that's why I believe Martians have joined forces with the Democratic Party in order to kidnap Vanna White and make her the breeding pool for a super-race of industrial varnishers," the voice was saying. "I mean, come on, is there any other explanation?"

"Yes, there is," Frasier said. "I believe we can safely pursue the theory that rain is the result of condensation of water vapor in the Earth's atmosphere."

He stabbed a button on his console that disconnected the call, then turned to look at the fiery-haired woman in the adjoining booth. "Roz, who's our next caller?"

"Time for a commercial break, Dr. Crane," Roz said.

"Oh, thank goodness." Frasier turned a brilliant smile onto his microphone. "This is Dr. Frasier Crane. We'll be right back after these messages from..."

Frasier picked up a slip of paper beside his console. "Yummee- Mummy Dog Food. The chewy bite-sized dog food shaped like real Egyptian Mummies."

Frasier shot an exasperated glare at Roz as he switched off his microphone. "Of course. The taste dogs naturally crave."

Roz stepped out of her booth, running her fingers through her long hair. "Oh, man, what a morning."

"I know," Frasier murmured. "Three days of nonstop rain has everyone on edge."

"The crazies are just coming out of the woodwork. How about that guy who called in to say the ghost of Nancy Reagan walked into a Neiman-Marcus last week?"

Frasier pulled his earphones back on. "At least there's a logical explanation for that one. Merris shops there all the time. Hang in there, Roz. Only two more calls, then we're outta here."

Roz headed back to her booth with both hands crossing fingers. "Please, no more nutballs."

When she was in her seat, Roz signalled Frasier, who smiled into the microphone again.

"Hello, Seattle," he said. "We're back with the Frasier Crane Show. Roz, who's our next caller?"

Roz's voice echoed through the booth. "We have a Maximillian Arturo on the line. He's calling all the way from San Francisco."

Frasier smiled. "Really? An out-of-town caller? Well, by all means, put him on."

The booth crackled as the call was patched in.

"Hello, Mr. Arturo," Frasier said. "I'm listening."

A deep voice with a thick British accent filled the room. "Ah, excellent. Dr. Crane. So good of you to speak with me."

"I assure you, the pleasure is all mine. You sound like a well- educated man from...the U.K., I believe?"

"Yes, I was born in Salisbury to be exact."

"And what do you do for a living?"

"Well, previously, I was the regents professor of cosmology and ontology at California University."

Frasier gave Roz a broad smile. "A physics professor? Well, this is a welcome change of pace. Finally, speaking to someone who is at least an intellectual equal."

"Yes," Arturo said. "Although as to my current occupation, I have none."

Frasier's smile faded. "Really? Why?"

"Well, you see, at the moment, I am too busy sliding into alternate realities to acquire a permanent occupation."

Frasier shot Roz a cold glare. "I see."

He mouthed the words 'Screen these calls' to her.

Roz shrugged.

"Yes," Arturo continued. "That's actually what I am calling you about. You see, it has been rather difficult for me over the last few months. Well, it's been difficult for all of us, I suppose..."

"All of you?"

"Yes, there are four of us, including myself. There's a young woman, a singer named Rembrandt Brown...uh, have you heard of him in this dimension?"

Frasier smirked. "I can't say that I have."

"Yes, I should have suspected. It varies from world to world, you see. At any rate, the fourth is a former student of mine, Quinn Mallory. He created the device that sent us on this blistering journey."

"Hm. Very interesting. Well, I'm afraid our time is up..."

Roz broke in with her microphone, grinning broadly. "Uh, actually, we have five more minutes, Dr. Crane."

Frasier gave her a murderous look as he said, "Ah, so we do. Please continue...professor."

"Thank you," Professor Arturo said. "Well, look, I shall make this very brief. It is just that...I have been suffering from a touch of depression and disorientation over the last few months. I believe it is a result of the constant changes in environment, coupled with the fear of never returning home."

Frasier folded his hands over his desk. "Well, *professor*, perhaps you should try this simple remedy. Stop sliding through other dimensions."

"Well, that's the problem, you see. The device that started us sliding is broken. We no longer can return home at will. We have to slide into various realities until we find it."

"I see. And how will you know when you're home?"

"When everything is the way it should be, of course. For instance, in our own world, you are not a radio talk-show host."

Frasier raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? And who am I?"

"Well, I am not entirely sure, but I do seem to recall visiting Boston University last year, and seeing you mopping floors."

Frasier looked away. "Roz, how much time do we have left?"

"Four more minutes, Dr. Crane."

"No matter," Frasier murmured. "I'm sure Professor Arturo will make the time fly by."

"It would only take a moment," Arturo said. "I heard your show, and felt that you could help me. Quite frankly, I am starved for intellectual conversation. My companions...while friendly enough...are hopelessly ignorant on higher learning."

"Well, I guess it's true what they say. When you're sliding into other dimensions, it's always best to travel with good friends. Professor Arturo, I think you need to talk to someone, my brother, Dr. Niles Crane. Now, he is quite experienced in dealing with paranoid delusions..."

"Delusions?" Arturo asked. "Good heavens, you think I'm insane, don't you?"

"Now, professor, you must understand that what you're saying is highly..."

"I am not insane, you blistering idiot! I am quite likely the most sane person you will ever speak to on this ridiculous program of yours!"

Frasier leaned closer to the microphone. "You know what, professor? For once, I'm going to tell the truth. I'm not going to sit here and sugar-coat my words. I have heard a lot of crazy things in my career, and I mean a lot. I used to sit in a bar next to a man who believed the bubonic plague was caused by tiny creatures called bubons, and would spend hours spewing the most ludicrous lies in existence. Well, Professor Arturo, you make me homesick for that man, because I have never heard a more intricate and hopelessly improbable fantasy since I moved to Seattle. You need help, professor, and I mean real help. Not some five-minute spiel by a third-rate psychologist. You need a team of psychiatrists, and I mean now!"

"You insufferable fool!" Arturo yelled. "How dare you question my sanity! I'll have you know that in my own world, my theories on cosmic wormholes were internationally-acclaimed!"

"Well, on this world, your theories are bait for the little men in white coats."

"Never in my life have I been treated like this! Mark my words, sir. If we were not scheduled to leave this dimension in three minutes, I would come down to that station and give you a thumping the likes of which you have never seen!"

"Yeah, well, I'd do the same, except my flight to the moon leaves in one hour, too. Goodbye, and thank you for stretching five minutes of my life into an eternity."

"How..."

Frasier stabbed a button on his console that cut the line, then flashed a brilliant smile at Roz. "Who's our next caller?"

"We have a Victoria Nelson on line two."

Frasier pushed the button. "Hello, Victoria. I'm listening."

"Never mind, Dr. Crane," the speaker said. "I don't need to be yelled at by some third-rate psychologist."

There was a loud click, followed by a dial-tone.

Frasier fiddled with the wire of his microphone, after clearing his throat, then said, "Well, it seems our time is up."

****

In a motel room miles away, Arturo slammed down the phone. "Of all the nerve!"

Wade patted him on the back. "I told you that quack couldn't help you, professor."

"Yeah," Rembrandt said. "You know these radio guys. They've got more hot air than brains."

"But to suggest that I was insane," Arturo fumed. "I cannot believe he would dare to even suggest the possibility."

Quinn lay back on the other bed. "Well, you gotta admit, it does sound pretty crazy."

"Perhaps to the ignorant layman, but those with a grounding in science would know it is well within the realm of plausiblity."

Wade rubbed his shoulder. "Come on, professor. Let it go. You don't need some quack to help you with your problems. We're here for you. And always will be."

Arturo gave her a lopsided smile. "Thank you, madame. And I shall be here for you."

Quinn looked at his timer. "Well, if we're gonna slide, we better get going."

"Right," Rembrandt said as he got up.

The four of them headed for the door of the room. They left the radio still sitting on the bedside table, still speaking with Frasier's voice.

"That's our show for today, my friends," the radio said. "Good mental health to you."

The End