Mr. Monk in Outer Space by Goldberg, Lee (best sci fi novels of all time .txt) 📕

“Look around, Adrian. This is my world, the walls of this house. But Beyond Earth takes me away to a galaxy of wonder and adventure, to distant planets full of fascinating cultures and amazing creatures. Thanks to Conrad Stipe, I’ve traveled to places I could never have imagined.”

“You haven’t gone anywhere,” Monk said. “It’s not real. It’s a fantasy.”

“The ideals aren’t,” Ambrose said. “The community isn’t. I have lots of friends out there, thanks to Beyond Earth. They talk to me all the time. They read my books. They are more a part of my life than you are. How can you tell me that’s not real? It’s very real to me.”

“You need to get out more,” Monk said.

Ambrose turned and marched into the kitchen, slamming the door behind him. I looked at Monk. He looked at me.

“What?” he said with a shrug.

“Don’t you think you were a little hard on him?” I asked.

“He’s one of those people, Natalie. He’s probably in the kitchen right now drinking a 7-Up and calling for an appointment with a plastic surgeon. Next time we see him, he’ll have pointed ears.”

“He’s your brother.”

“That’s what’s so shocking. How could we have grown up in this house together and turned out so different?”

“Ambrose is a very sweet, sensitive man,” I said. “So what if he loses himself in a TV show? He’s all alone here. Can you really blame him for having a rich fantasy life? It’s not like he has a lot of people to talk to.”

“The front door is right there,” Monk said. “There’s nothing stopping him from walking outside.”

“If that was a revolving door, you’d be a prisoner inside this house, too.”

“No one would put a revolving door in a house.”

“You’re missing my point.”

“You haven’t made one.”

I sighed and decided to take a different approach. “When was the last time you called Ambrose?”

“I’m not much of a phone person,” Monk said. “It’s not safe.”

“Phones are perfectly safe, Mr. Monk.”

“Haven’t you ever heard of communicable diseases? ” Monk rolled his shoulders. “Phones. That’s where the communication starts.”

“Okay,” I said, resisting the almost irresistible compulsion to strangle him to death. “When was the last time you read one of his books?”

“I’ve never had to assemble a dollhouse, repair a dishwasher, or learn to speak a fictional language spoken by freaks.”

“I really wish you’d stop saying that about your brother.”

“Why are your hands at your side and clenched into fists?”

“Never mind that,” I said. “Ambrose is a versatile and talented author, which you would know if you’d ever read one of his books. I’ve read lots of them. He’s got a real gift, Mr. Monk. He’s great at explaining things and making even the most difficult ideas and tasks seem easy to understand. In a way, he’s just like you.”

“I don’t see how.”

“To a lot of people, installing a new piece of software or a new component into their home stereo system can be just as baffling as an unsolved homicide. But Ambrose solves the mystery for them. Maybe he can help you solve this one.”

“Ambrose doesn’t know the first thing about homicide investigation.”

“But he knows everything about Beyond Earth and you don’t,” I said. “He could save you from having to spend a lot more time at that convention. Besides, Conrad Stipe meant a lot to him and helping to solve this murder could give him a positive way to work through his grief. You and I both know how important that is.”

“It’s no use. The investigation is out there.” Monk tipped his head towards the door. “Ambrose won’t leave the house.”

“So we bring the investigation to him.” I reached into my purse and took out the DVD that Disher had given me. “We can start with this.”

“I don’t know,” he said.

I threw the DVD at him. It hit him squarely in the chest. He fumbled with it, catching it before it landed on the floor.

“That hurt.” He rubbed his chest.

“Good,” I said. “I was beginning to think you didn’t have any feelings left.”

He saw me glaring at him and shuffled off to the kitchen without another word.

Monk slowly opened the door. Ambrose sat at the table, spraying a bottle of Lysol with Lysol and wiping it clean with a paper towel. Until that moment, I had never seen anybody disinfect their disinfectant before.

“Doing a little housework?” Monk asked.

“It’s not like I have an assistant to do it for me,” Ambrose said. “We can’t all live a life of luxury.”

“I could use your help,” Monk mumbled.

“Did you say something, Adrian?”

Monk cleared his throat. “I could use your expertise on the Stipe investigation.”

“You aren’t ashamed of me?”

“I’m not ashamed of you, Ambrose,” Monk said. “As long as you promise not to wear an elephant trunk in public.”

“I’m never in public.”

“Then we’re good,” Monk said.

“I’d like to help,” Ambrose said.

“Even though Stipe sold out and Kingston Mills is ‘reimagining’ everything about Beyond Earth?” I asked.

“I’m not happy about the new show, but that’s all it is, a new show with the same name. They are starting from the beginning, not picking up where the original show left off, and they’re using new actors. So it doesn’t really change anything. Those original episodes still exist. They always will.”

“You weren’t mad at Conrad Stipe?” Monk asked.

“I’m sure he had his reasons for letting the studio and Kingston Mills do a new version of the show,” Ambrose said. “Who am I to judge him?”

“I think you may be in the minority,” I said.

“On the contrary,” Ambrose said. “Most of the fans are glad to see the show coming back in any form, becauseit will renew interest in the original series. The Galactic Uprising speaks for a