Part 38 (1/2)
”I'm sure most people do. I've got patients who think they're spies, superheroes, doctors.... Others got blindsided so young it's too evident to bear: w.i.l.l.y, for instance. I'm sure she lives every moment with the ghost of a girl whose father didn't drag her off a balcony.”
Mason pictured her-that little b.i.t.c.h-sticking out her tongue and yelling, doing cartwheels through w.i.l.l.y's brain. ”I should get home to her,” he said.
They turned and started back across the bridge. ”You're sort of opposites,” said the doctor. ”You and w.i.l.l.y.”
Mason was going to ask what she meant, but he was tired of being told things. He walked and thought about it, and then he saw: w.i.l.l.y had lived her whole life with her ghost right there-it inhabited half her body. Whereas Mason had dreamed up so many selves, for so long, that when he finally collapsed into the man he was, he was old but his ghosts were young and mutinous. He saw them as angry birds, diving for him, scrabbling for a perch in his chest.
”I think you need them, though,” said Dr. Francis, ”if you're going to be fully human.”
”What?”
”The ghosts. People who don't have them-they've got no conflict. Take Seth: he always knew what he wanted, and went about getting it. He was a hard man to beat. But it's interesting what we did-don't you think. We found a way to ghost ghost him-or as close as it comes with a man like that: take away his libido, his cravings, and eventually he becomes ineffectual, barely an idea.” him-or as close as it comes with a man like that: take away his libido, his cravings, and eventually he becomes ineffectual, barely an idea.”
”So you think there's a difference,” said Mason, ”between being ghosted and just having them inside you?”
”I think so. Look at Chaz. There's a guy who's embraced his ghosts. He likes them. When he's happy he even talks like one.”
”The ghost of Jimmy Cagney.”
”Yeah. The kind of guy his dad would have liked.”
”You think that makes him less less f.u.c.ked up?” f.u.c.ked up?”
The doctor shrugged. ”How's he doing?” she said.
”They've got him at the Don,” said Mason. They were nearing the end of the bridge. ”I'm hoping to visit in the next couple days.”
”He'll be all right,” said Dr. Francis.
”And what about me? You think there's any hope?”
The doctor laughed. ”You're so dramatic.”
”I'm serious.”
”Some people,” she said. ”If they live long enough, their regrets turn into skills.”
”What's that supposed to mean?”
”Boom, boom and boom.”
”At least I can cheat at cards?”
”Tell you what,” said Dr. Francis. ”When you see Chaz, ask him about it.”
”About what, exactly?”
”The Man in the Black Helmet.”
They'd reached the end of the bridge.
79.
When it comes to certain things, movies tend to be right: the two chairs, the old phone receivers-two inches of Plexiglas between them. It occurred to Mason that the last time he'd seen Chaz was also through bulletproof gla.s.s. He was about to mention it, and then he thought better.
They might be listening in.
”What's the rumble?” said Chaz. ”You hitting okay?”
”Me? You're the one in jail?”
Chaz looked around as if surprised. ”By Jove, I am!” Then he leaned into the gla.s.s. ”Tell me about our good friend Seth.”
Mason looked him in the eye. ”Gone,” he said.
Chaz grinned.
”Ungracious final act, though.” said Mason, looking around.
”We'll get you out of here, I promise.”
”What, this?” said Chaz, still smiling. ”This ain't the work of Handyman.”
”What do you mean?”
”The songbirds are singing.”
”Why are you talking like that-is it because they're listening?”
”Just happy is all.”
”You're in jail, Chaz.”
”Right as f.u.c.king hail.”
”Well, can you talk normal for now? Please?”
Chaz took a breath, and nodded.
”So who do you think set you up?”
Mason could see the effort it took: Chaz rewriting the words in his head-getting rid of all the stoolies, pigeons stoolies, pigeons and and rats ... rats ... Finally he just said, ”Fishy.” Finally he just said, ”Fishy.”
”You're kidding me?” said Mason.
”Yeah. Who'd ever think it? If you can't trust a guy named Fishy ...?”