"Would you stop being a f.u.c.king shrink?" He stood back up and paced behind his chair. "What difference does it make? If he breached his parole then the cops should be on him already, right?"

Dr. Francis shook her head. "Parole officers are swamped. They use doctors like me as a defacto check-in."

"What about Sudden Street?"

She flicked her hand through the air. "Told them Seth missed an appointment, so I called it in. And seeing as he hadn't come home, I'd call the cops again. Save 'em some work: APB and everything."

"But that's not what you did ..."

The doctor shook her head.

"So he's running but no one's chasing him!"

"Pretty much."

"What the h.e.l.l are you doing?"

"There's something I should tell you, Mason."

"There's a lot lot that you should tell me." that you should tell me."

She looked at him straight and took a breath. "Seth knows everything about you. He has your file and he has your notebook.... He has your confession, Mason."

"What the f.u.c.k are you talking about?"

"He broke into my office."

Mason steadied his gaze. He tried to steady his breathing.

"It doesn't matter," he said. "I don't care what he's got on me. The guy should be locked up."

"Even if you get locked up, too?"

Mason shrugged.

The doctor shook her head. "Jail's too good for Seth."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Dr. Francis leaned forward. "We'll do this ourselves." She pointed a finger at Mason. "He's got something of yours. You've got something of his."

"His stupid f.u.c.king notebook?"

The doctor nodded. "It's up to us. We can take him down."

Mason sat in the chair again. "There's something you're not telling me."

"There's a lot lot that I'm not telling you." She looked him in the eye. "Do you want redemption or not?" that I'm not telling you." She looked him in the eye. "Do you want redemption or not?"

"I'll think about it," said Mason, and put his hand on the desk. "Now give me the G.o.dd.a.m.n juice."

It felt like someone else's apartment, or like he'd lived there in another life. There were wisps of cocaine on the table and the room still smelled of whisky. His bed remained unmade.

He sat down and turned on the computer. There was an email from Seth-and only now did he notice the To: To: line. He'd been too high, or too something to see it. line. He'd been too high, or too something to see it.

To: [email protected]: [email protected]: You

Owe me, b.i.t.c.h.

S. Handyman Truth be told, he'd been expecting something creepier. He clicked Reply.

To: [email protected]: : I

Was expecting something creepier. You once had a way with words.

M. Dubisee The phone rang. He hit Send, walked over and picked it up.

"What are you doing?" It was Dr. Francis. "He knows where you live."

"You're the one who's watching me." He hung up the phone. Then he took the ad off that website, killed his other account, packed up his laptop and left.

"That doctor is crazy," said Mason, as w.i.l.l.y drank down the methadone.

"We're all crazy. It means that we're alive."

Mason took the cup. "I'll go out soon and get us some food."

She lay back down. "Are you going to be out all the time now?"

"Not all the time."

"Is something wrong?" She turned her head to look at him. "You seem like something's wrong."

"I have to tell you something, w.i.l.l.y."

She nodded. And he told her everything: about Warren and Sissy and Soon-about Warren, Zevon and Sarah-and then about Seth Handyman.

When he finished, she let out a sigh, but her eyes were shining bright. "Are you going to beat him?" she said.

"I'm not sure how to do it."

"Well get get sure," she said. "Get sure, get better and beat him. Live happily ever after." sure," she said. "Get sure, get better and beat him. Live happily ever after."

"Aren't you even scared?"

"Not for you," said w.i.l.l.y. "Just don't forget I'm down here. I hate it when you're gone."

Notes on the Novel in ProgressIt will always be in progress.Read it again when you think you're clean; if it still makes sense, you're not clean enough.Kill all the semicolons.Possible t.i.tle:Stop If You Have the Chance

71.

Not being high made him high. He knew one day that would end, and then the normalcy might crush him. But right now he felt pretty d.a.m.n good. The strength and clarity was intense. He went for walks and then his walks turned into runs-a limping-run, because of his ankle. He knew it was a manic thing to do, but his lungs and heart just felt so strong.

He focused his energy on w.i.l.l.y, ma.s.saging her curves and straightaways. And he read to her: Papillon, The Collected Works of Billy the Kid, The Moon and Sixpence Papillon, The Collected Works of Billy the Kid, The Moon and Sixpence-bits of each until his throat was raw, and they listened to "Fire Lake." They fought each other's cravings-that's how they tried to do it. As one of them got triggered (and it was hard not to, in this cave within the Cave), the other took on the struggle, howling and swearing until they set in to each other again. His libido had returned with a vengeance.

For most of Mason's life it had been overwhelming-a driving hunger for love and s.e.x-a thirst that could feel like a curse. He'd been trumped by girlfriends, affairs, romances and ravages, flesh upon flesh. But eventually he'd overwhelmed it-with a new kind of thirst: a stronger, bloodless one-for ash and powder and pure adrenaline. And then he was dry as a bone, nothing but hunger, words and dust. He'd still had s.e.x, but more as a measure of time while waiting for the drugs to come, the curse of l.u.s.t a distant memory.

But now it was back: love for love, s.e.x for s.e.x. And it felt like a f.u.c.king blessing. They gave it their all and overdid it-chewing up the cave, whipping and gasping and s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g themselves blind until, finally, sweating and bug-eyed, their craving was a beautiful farce. They lay there exhausted, and Mason lost feeling in half his body. But he didn't tell w.i.l.l.y that-just curled himself into her, singing them both to sleep.

"I can give you something to help stabilize your mood," said Dr. Francis.

"Do I want that?"

"It might help with the cravings."

He looked at her. She'd changed her tack. "Why are you being so nice?"

The doctor stood up. "Tell me, Mason-do you think you understood?"

"Understood what?"

"That suicide business of yours." She walked to the window. "Why they'd do it? If If they'd do it? Who they actually were? Either you thought you understood-that you could relate and empathize-or else you didn't care. It's one or the other." they'd do it? Who they actually were? Either you thought you understood-that you could relate and empathize-or else you didn't care. It's one or the other."

"I don't know.

"That's a lame answer. Come here."

Mason got up and stood next to her.

"See that girl there, the Asian girl with green shoes ...?" She was pointing down into the street. "She's one of my patients. I adore her. She always flirts with me.... She's got this thing where she swallows razor blades."

"What?"

"She swallows razor blades. She wraps them in bits of toilet paper so they can get down her throat, and then the paper dissolves.... Her insides are torn to ribbons. I've sent her to surgery six times now. They hate her at the hospital."

"Jesus."

"She's started breaking her own fingers with a hammer. She came in yesterday and was like, 'Can you look at this?' Her left hand looked like-well, like someone had been hammering it."

"Can't you put her somewhere?"

"Now that's interesting. I was just thinking about how weird that is...."

"What?"

"There's this room we've got on the ninth floor: white walls, nothing in it. If someone's on suicide watch, you check them every five minutes. But sometimes even that's too long. You'd be surprised how many people can beat that clock, hanging themselves off a doork.n.o.b-can you imagine what kind of will that takes? So anyway, this particular room, it doesn't have a doork.n.o.b-nothing but a mat on the floor and a one-way window so we can watch you."

"I was in one of those," said Mason.

The doctor nodded. "You know what we call it?"

"What?"

"The TQ room."

Mason felt the breath go out of him.

"Most hospitals have one. It stands for 'therapeutic quiet.'" She was still looking down at the street. "Problem is, I can't put anyone in there for more than a day. Someone like her, she'd need twenty-four-hour surveillance-for as long as it takes-and there's nowhere like that. The best was when she was in jail. We're kind of trying for that right now but even then, I don't know ... It went well last time until something happened. She pulled her own teeth out-then she started cutting her tongue."

He almost gagged, looking down at this girl on the corner.

"I kind of love her. Anyway, my point-one of them-is that she's not suicidal." She flicked her fingers like a gun at the windowpane. "Even her her I can't diagnose as suicidal-not honestly. She's self-harming, self-destructive, and eventually what she does will probably kill her but it doesn't make her suicidal." She turned and looked at him. "You should meet her. She's awesome! She gives me the oddest presents-things she's shoplifted, always useless things. She's an inspired person. She might even survive-if her mother doesn't." I can't diagnose as suicidal-not honestly. She's self-harming, self-destructive, and eventually what she does will probably kill her but it doesn't make her suicidal." She turned and looked at him. "You should meet her. She's awesome! She gives me the oddest presents-things she's shoplifted, always useless things. She's an inspired person. She might even survive-if her mother doesn't."

"What does that mean?" Mason was watching her, the girl with green sneakers, who swallowed razorblades, beat her own hand with a hammer and pulled out her teeth. She was crossing the street towards them.

"Her mom pimped her out until she was big enough to fight. And still she keeps in touch with her. But every time they talk she ends up doing something." Dr. Francis turned and looked at him. "The point is, if she's not suicidal-and she's not-you don't get to be."

The girl in green shoes had vanished into the building.

"You had another point, too?"

"Right. That girl coming up to see me right now-you know why I love her?"

"Why?"

"She barely bulls.h.i.ts me at all. Do you know how rare that is? Ninety-nine percent of everyone I see-the thing they have in common? They're full of s.h.i.t. That doesn't make me dislike them. I get it. But there's a result, right? You get so used to bulls.h.i.t and deception, and omission, that you see it in the air like rays of light or something. And eventually you don't care any more, until you do by accident."

Mason thought of Sissy-or whatever her name was. The doctor was silent.

"You haven't asked me about Seth."

"You said you'd think about it."

She walked over to the minifridge in the corner, unlocked it, and pulled out a paper bag.