Free Ghosted by Shaughnessy Bishop-Stall

looking right at him. So this was the answer: apparently there was
nowhere
you could be strung out and mostly naked. He’d have to play it cool—take it down a notch.
    “Good morning,” said Mason. “I would like to book an assessment.”
    There was something humming next to him. It was the woman who’d been sitting in the grass. She was holding the Ms. Pac-Man towel in her arms now. She stood on her toes to speak into his ear.
    “She eats ghosts,” said the woman, then tied the beach towel around his shoulders, like a cape.
    “Thank you,” said Mason. She stepped aside, still humming, and a man in uniform took hold of his elbow.

18
    Chaz was waiting for him in front of the building, dangling his keys like a sadistic jailer. “Nice outfit.”
    Mason was in sweatpants, running shoes and a yellow hoodie, the Ms. Pac-Man towel tucked beneath his arm. “They didn’t have a lot of selection,” he said, and took the keys from Chaz.
    “Why didn’t you just call me?”
    “Things got complicated,” said Mason. “I’m okay, Chaz. Really.”
    “All right. You let me know if you’re not.”
    Chaz left, and Mason let himself in.
    All things considered, it could have gone worse. A doctor had “formed” him, which meant they were allowed to keep him in hospital, against his will, for up to seventy-two hours. Fortunately, though, it hadn’t taken long to persuade them he was neither a threat to himself nor to others. He explained about the sunrise, the cat on the leash, and the difficulty crossing Spadina. They’d given him some clothes, then put him in a room with nothing but his thoughts—not even a doorknob.
    It had only been one night but a lot had happened in that empty room. By morning the thought of Warren meant something different. All his thoughts, in fact, had shifted.
    After a small breakfast, a nurse named Danny had sat down and talked to him. They would let him leave, he said, as long as he booked an assessment and follow-up. “Usually you have to wait a few weeks, but we can get you in sooner.”
    “Great,” said Mason.
    They’d written down some information, given him some more pamphlets, then let him use the phone to call Chaz. It all seemed like a lot of trouble just to get back into his own apartment—but now, finally, he was home again.
    His new outfit smelled like someone else. He took off the clothes, folded them—along with the Ms. Pac-Man beach towel—and put on some of his own. He walked to the centre of the room and sat down on the floor, trying to cross his legs lotusstyle, closing his eyes. After a few minutes he got up, poured a glass of whisky and drank it down. Then he yelled, for no reason at all. It shocked the hell out of him. In the front window’s reflection he saw the surprise on his own face, and he started to laugh.
    Notes on the Novel in Progress
    To keep in mind:
    Transformation. How does the main character change over time?
    Possible insert:
    A typical day for our (anti-?) hero.
    To research:
    Funerals. Antipsychotic meds. Card tricks. Different types of squirrels.
    The amount of cocaine you can do before your heart explodes.
    Possible title:
    Life after Birth

19
    Mason was quietly stunned by his inability to run a business even as simple as this one. It had got to the point where he was dragging his fibreglass fedora to the Matt Cohen Parkette barely in time for lunch, then packing it up when he got itchy or hit the sweats—usually between 3 and 4 p.m. He was making barely enough tocover his costs. Fortunately, Fishy didn’t come around much since the fuzz had been there.
    Some days he didn’t work at all. He slept and slept. Waited until the weight of his body ached against the mattress so much that he had to stand up. He drank several glasses of water, pulled back the curtains. Let the light shine in. He looked at the day and felt like he might throw up. He got dressed and went for a walk. There was a small park in the middle of Kensington Market that reminded