Part 14 (2/2)

32.

He just wanted to sleep, but couldn't. It felt like someone was hollowing him out with a ladle, body and soul. He gasped and shook, like some feeble anti-hero in a comic book-drugs not working! Must ... correct ... body chemistry ... find a way to ... survive ... For no clear reason he was rolling cocaine, tobacco and marijuana together, but kept spilling it all over his lap. For no clear reason he was rolling cocaine, tobacco and marijuana together, but kept spilling it all over his lap. Must ... roll... better! Must ... roll... better! Finally he made a smoke of sorts and lit it, the flame licking his cheek. He inhaled, and turned on the computer. It felt like there was someone crying in his chest Finally he made a smoke of sorts and lit it, the flame licking his cheek. He inhaled, and turned on the computer. It felt like there was someone crying in his chest ... Too low. Must get higher! ... Too low. Must get higher! He cracked open a popper, inhaling deeply. Then another. For a brief but thankful moment, a faint high lifted through him. He clicked on the Internet icon, then his email. At that instant the marijuana, c.o.ke and amyl nitrite collided in his bloodstream-opposing mercenaries with the same d.a.m.n purpose. Demons with demons ... He cracked open a popper, inhaling deeply. Then another. For a brief but thankful moment, a faint high lifted through him. He clicked on the Internet icon, then his email. At that instant the marijuana, c.o.ke and amyl nitrite collided in his bloodstream-opposing mercenaries with the same d.a.m.n purpose. Demons with demons ...

He awoke beneath the desk. His s.h.i.+rt was off, as was one shoe, but he was still wearing his sungla.s.ses. He pulled himself up onto the chair. A message was open on his computer screen.

To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: Dear SirHow very novel-a morbid scribe for hire! I require, for my own personal project, someone discreet, artistic and hesitant to use exclamation marks. Does that sound like you?I think it does! I think that you might be just the man I'm looking for.Sincerely, Interested in ending it all!

Mason found a cigarette, lit it, gagged, then hit Reply.

To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: Dear Interested in ending it allWhat the h.e.l.l are you talking about?Sincerely, Not feeling too good right now!

He clicked Send, looked for his other shoe, couldn't find it, took off the one he was wearing, then stumbled over to the sink for a dozen gla.s.ses of water. He was only partly hydrated when another message came through.

To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: Dear Not feeling too good right now!

Sorry to hear you're not feeling too good right now.

Happy, however, to see that you have a sense of humour. (Do you, though? It's hard to tell in emails.)

Now, to your question: I am talking about the possibility of hiring you for, as I said, a personal project-a rather morbid one. Would you like to know more? I sure would, including your rates.

Sincerely, Interested to know more, and also in ending it all!

Mason belted down three more gla.s.ses of water, took some Alka-Seltzer, brewed some coffee, forgot to pour it, lit another cigarette, gagged again, then typed out another response.

To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: Dear Interested

I appreciate your interest.My sense of humour is actually hurting quite a lot today, and I seem to have lost a shoe. I still don't really know what you're talking about, and I don't discuss business details, including rates, via email. I may be willing to meet with you-once I'm feeling better.

Sincerely, Not feeling any better yet!To: [email protected] From: Subject: Dear Not feeling any better yet!

How are you feeling now?

Sincerely, Interested in how you're feeling now, more about your business (including rates) and, of course, ending it all!

Mason turned off the computer, took off his sungla.s.ses, then climbed the ladder to his bed.

33.

The cod liver oil girl smiled down from the poster on the wall. The doctor finished reading and looked up at Mason. ”It's not very funny.”

”You asked for my first memory,” said Mason.

”I'm not sure it's that either.”

”What's that supposed to mean? I remember it: sitting in the lap of a woman, her blue dress ...”

”Sure. But the rest of it-don't get me wrong, it's a clever device: the negation of these unspeakable thoughts in the mouth of a child who can't talk-but it's also very distancing.”

”You told me just to write!”

”Which you did. And I just read it.” She picked up the notebook and looked at it. ”It's very sad.”

”Okay. Enough already! Next time I'll write a funny one!”

”Well, that's just it: in person you distance yourself with humour. And yet, here ...,” she turned the notebook to face him, ”you found a way to bring sadness-all the sadness in the world-to your very first memory. What does that tell you?”

Mason glared at her. She stared back at him, waiting.

”I'm sad,” he finally said. ”Is that what you want to hear?”

She shrugged slightly, in a way that made him crazy.

”My friend just killed herself!” It came out before he could stop it. ”So-so I should should be sad, don't you think?” be sad, don't you think?”

The doctor blinked. ”I'm sorry for your loss.”

Mason took a breath, then nodded.

”Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head.

”It must have been difficult to write this sober.” Dr. Francis tapped the notebook with a finger. Mason nodded. ”That must have taken a lot of strength.”

His shame felt visible. He tried to make it look like anger, but she'd opened his file now. ”Hmm ...,” she said.

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