Hunting in Hollywood

Jonathan Friedman listened as Simon recounted his nine-month treatment at a psychiatric hospital, and he couldn't help but furrow his brows in surprise.

Hollywood, a place of great highs and lows, has many stars with mental health issues, and even more who enter sanatoriums under the guise of treating mental ailments to combat addiction.

However, few have required treatment in a psychiatric hospital for as long as nine months, like Simon did.

After Simon finished speaking, Jonathan looked at the young man across from him and asked, "So, Simon, you're okay now, right?"

Although the other twelve personas had fallen silent, their memories still lingered in his mind. Honestly, Simon himself didn't know if he might encounter issues again in the future.

Jonathan noticed the hesitation in Simon's expression and probably understood something. He was also well aware that mental illnesses are usually very difficult to completely cure.

Moreover, Jonathan understood why Simon had brought up this issue today.

In Hollywood, there's little prejudice against those with minor mental health issues, as long as it doesn't affect their work. People might simply think the person is a bit eccentric. However, for those with severe mental illnesses, both Hollywood and society at large, while often sympathetic, inevitably tend to keep their distance.

For Simon personally, given his recent performances, Jonathan no longer doubted that he would achieve success in Hollywood.

Thus, if Simon's past were to be exploited by someone and widely publicized in the media, it could severely impact his personal image. Worse, if Simon's mental health issues were to recur, the outcome could be disastrous.

With these worries in mind, Jonathan asked again, "Simon, since you brought this up today, do you already have a plan in mind?"

Simon nodded and said, "Jonathan, first, I hope you can help me avoid the public activities and media interviews Fox has arranged for 'The Butterfly Effect' promotion for a while. I want to keep a low profile for as long as possible."

"That's no problem, I can handle that," Jonathan nodded in agreement, recalling the content of the newspapers, and added with a smile, "So, changing your last name was because of this, right? However, using 'Westeros' as a last name was a bit of a misstep, too conspicuous."

Simon just smiled without speaking.

Jonathan didn't pursue it further, but he couldn't help thinking that the young man across from him still had many secrets.

Thinking this, Jonathan asked, "Simon, you just mentioned the first thing, what about the second thing?"

Simon replied, "I want to go back to San Francisco to retrieve my medical records."

This was actually the main reason Simon had come to see Jonathan.

Simon was somewhat grateful that this body had been diagnosed with schizophrenia rather than dissociative identity disorder.

If Simon had shown signs of multiple personalities, with twelve souls from thirty years in the future taking turns controlling this body, speaking and acting out of turn without understanding the situation could have led to complications.

Now, even though Simon was no longer in the psychiatric hospital, the things he had said and done while under the influence of schizophrenia had potentially laid numerous unpredictable traps for his future.

Many of these flaws were documented in his medical records.

Naturally, Jonathan couldn't know the real reason why Simon wanted to retrieve his medical records, but he fully supported Simon's decision.

As long as the medical records were retrieved and destroyed, even if someone still wanted to use Simon's past against him, the lack of this solid evidence would give Simon much more room to maneuver.

Considering this, Jonathan quickly said, "Alright, Simon, I'll have Owen go with you to San Francisco tomorrow."

Hearing Jonathan's suggestion, Simon shook his head and refused, "Jonathan, I'd like to go alone. Just lend me a car. I'll leave immediately and, if all goes well, I'll be back by tomorrow afternoon."

Jonathan wanted to say more, but seeing Simon's determined expression, he didn't press further. He stood up and said, "Then, follow me."

They left the office, and Jonathan spoke briefly with Owen Wright, took a set of car keys, and led Simon out of the WMA headquarters.

Together, they went to the parking lot, where Jonathan pointed to a nondescript gray Ford sedan, "This is Owen's car; it's perfect for your trip. I won't lend you my car."

Simon nodded, understanding Jonathan's intentions.

Jonathan's car was a brand-new Mercedes-Benz 500SEC, and Simon, who had left Watsonville just over a month ago with barely a penny to his name, driving back in a luxury Mercedes might attract unwanted attention.

After Jonathan finished speaking, he gestured for Simon to get in the car, then opened his own Mercedes door and said again, "Follow me."

Simon drove behind Jonathan's Mercedes, left Camino Street, and after a few minutes weaving through the streets of Beverly Hills, stopped again in front of a bank

.

Jonathan told Simon to wait a moment, went inside the bank, and soon returned to sit in the passenger seat of the Ford, handing Simon two bundles of cash, "Here's twenty thousand dollars. I think you might need it."

Seeing Jonathan stop at the bank, Simon had roughly understood his agent's intentions. Initially planning to refuse, he reconsidered and accepted the money.

After bidding farewell to his agent, Simon drove the gray Ford sedan west across Los Angeles, entering California Highway 1, and followed the coastline north.

Driving his own car was much faster than the previous bus trip.

Still, the drive from Los Angeles to Watsonville in the southern part of San Francisco took over five hours.

Checking into a motel in the small town of Watsonville at nine o'clock in the evening, Simon had already made reservations before leaving Los Angeles.

After resting overnight in Watsonville, Simon arrived on time at the psychiatric hospital on the outskirts of the small town at ten o'clock the next morning.

As a public psychiatric hospital that often required federal financial assistance, Watsonville Psychiatric Hospital retained its bleak and desolate appearance.

Simon waited patiently outside the office of his former attending physician, Dr. Henry Chapman, until a nurse invited him in.

Dr. Chapman was surprised to see Simon return so soon and asked concernedly if he was feeling unwell.

Simon reassured him and after a brief exchange, feeling a distant clanging noise, he asked, "Henry, are you guys renovating?"

Dr. Chapman, realizing that Simon showed no signs of distress, relaxed and explained softly, "Last Wednesday, a patient propped his bed upright and hanged himself on it. He was found by other patients. In the following days, two more tried to do the same. After three deaths, the hospital is now nailing all the beds to the floor."

Simon was momentarily silent.

Patients in psychiatric hospitals are indeed pitiable, but for doctors, especially in such public institutions, the pressure is immense.

It's typically inappropriate to discuss patient suicides casually with a visitor, but Dr. Chapman's sharing not only treated Simon as a friend but also mixed with a need to vent in such a repressive environment.

After a moment of quiet, Dr. Chapman was the first to speak, "Simon, since you're okay, what brings you here today?"

Simon carefully phrased his request, "Henry, if possible, I'd like to take my medical records with me."

"Oh," Dr. Chapman responded without surprise, simply saying, "Simon, do you have 500 dollars?"

Simon, puzzled, quickly pulled out 500 dollars from his backpack and handed it to Dr. Chapman.

"Just wait here for a moment," Dr. Chapman took the money, pocketed it, and left the office.

Simon watched Dr. Chapman leave, still somewhat confused.

However, Simon didn't question why Dr. Chapman had asked for 500 dollars. He trusted the doctor's integrity. This kind-hearted middle-aged man had even taken half a day off to drive him to the courthouse for his name change hearing.

If it weren't for his agent lending him twenty thousand dollars before leaving for Watsonville, Simon would have only brought some spare change for the trip.

Minutes later, Dr. Chapman returned, handing Simon a thick file folder, "Take this, Simon."

Simon took the folder, but still looked questioningly at the middle-aged doctor who had sat back down behind his desk.

Dr. Chapman noticed Simon's puzzled look and smiled, "I won't ask why you want these documents. Actually, you're not the first to do so. The 500 dollars was for Wesley in the records room. This way, if anyone asks later, he'll say the file was lost."

Simon touched the edges of the paper folder, asking, "Henry, will there be any problems?"

Dr. Chapman shook his head and reassured him with a confident look, "Simon, in places like our public psychiatric hospital, where conditions are even worse, missing a file or two goes unnoticed. But apart from this file, I also sent monthly reports on your condition to Stanford during your stay. If you want those as well, you'll need to go to Palo Alto. Oh, and one more thing, those reports are under your old name."

Simon nodded; he remembered this.

However, those monthly reports, which only briefly described his treatment progress, didn't involve the details Simon wanted to avoid, so he didn't plan to waste time on that information.

After a few more exchanges, Dr. Chapman stood up, "Then, Simon, let me walk you out. There's nothing worth staying for here."

Simon nodded, placed the folder in his backpack, and followed Dr. Chapman out of the office.

On their way to the parking lot, Dr. Chapman inquired about Simon's recent life.

Simon didn't hide anything and briefly shared his experiences, even showing Dr. Chapman an article about himself from the "Los Angeles Times."

The middle-aged doctor was very happy for Simon and gave him

 his home address and contact information before parting, hoping Simon would visit him in Watsonville if he was ever back in San Francisco.

After leaving Watsonville, Simon drove for over an hour along California Highway 1, stopping at a deserted coastline. There, he personally set the medical records on fire, making sure all the papers turned to ash. Mixing the ashes with sand, he scattered them into the sea, finally feeling a sense of relief.

His past, it seemed, was thoroughly obliterated.