Free The Walls of the Universe by Paul Melko

to prove to another version of him that he wasn't a wacko.
    He looked across the quad. He watched a boy catch a Frisbee, and then saw juxtaposed the images of him tripping and not catching it, just missing it to the left, to the right, a million permutations. Everything in the quad was suddenly a blur.
    He shook his head, then lifted the diploma so that he could read it. He'd try again, and this time he'd try the direct approach.
    John climbed the steps to Wilson's office and knocked.
    "Come on in."
    "I have a problem."
    Wilson nodded and asked, "How can I help?"
    "I've visited you three times. Twice before you wouldn't believe me," John said.
    "I don't think I've ever seen you before," he said. "You're not one of my students, are you?"
    "No, I'm not. We've never met, but I've met versions of you."
    "Really."
    John yelled, "Don't patronize me! You do that every fucking time, and I've had enough." His arms were shaking. "I don't belong in this universe. I belong in another. Do you understand?"
    Wilson's face was emotionless, still. "No, please explain."
    "I was tricked into using a device. I was tricked by another version of myself because he wanted my life. He told me I could get back, but the device either doesn't work right or only goes in one direction. I want to get back to my universe, and I need help."
    Wilson nodded. "Why don't you sit down?"
    John nodded, tears welling in his eyes. He'd finally gotten through to Wilson.
    "So you've tried talking with me — other versions of me — in other universes, and I won't help. Why not?"
    "We start by discussing parallel universes or quantum cosmology or Multi-Worlds Theory, and you end up shooting it all down with Occam's Razor."
    "Sounds like something I'd say," Wilson said, nodding. "So you have a device."
    "Yeah. It's here." John pointed to his chest, then unbuttoned his shirt.
    Wilson looked at the device gravely. "What's that in your hand?"
    John glanced down at the diploma. "It's ... your diploma from the last universe. I sorta took it for proof."
    Wilson held out his hand, and John handed it over. There was an identical one on the wall. The professor glanced from one to the other. "Uh huh," he said, then after a moment, "I see."
    He put the diploma down and said, "My middle name is Lawrence."
    John saw that the script of the diploma he'd stolen said "Frank B. Wilson" while the one on the wall said "Frank L. Wilson."
    "I guess it's just a difference — "
    "Who put you up to this? Was it Greene? This is just the sort of thing he'd put together."
    Anguish washed over John. "No! This is all real."
    "That device strapped to your chest. Now that's classic. And the diploma. Nice touch."
    "Really. This is no hoax."
    "Enough already. I'm on to you. Is Greene in the hall?" Wilson called through the door. "You can come out now, Charles. I'm on to you."
    "There is no Charles. There is no Greene," John said quietly.
    "And you must be from the drama department, because you are good. Two more copies of me! As if the universe can handle one."
    John stood up and walked out of the office, his body suddenly too heavy.
    "Don't forget the shingle," Wilson called, holding up the diploma. John shrugged and continued walking down the hall.
    He sat on a bench next to the quad for a long time. The sun set and the warm summer day vanished along with the kids playing Frisbee with their shirts tied around their waists.
    Finally he stood and walked toward the Student Union. He needed food. He'd skipped lunch at some point; his stomach was growling at him. He didn't feel hungry but his body was demanding food. He just felt tired.
    There was a pizza franchise in the Student Union called Papa Bob's. He ordered a small pizza and a Coke, ate it mechanically. It tasted like cardboard, chewy cardboard.
    The Union was desolate as well, all the students driving home or heading to the dorms for studying and TV. John spotted a pay phone as he sat pondering what he would do next, whether he should confront