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“He himself always felt watched.”
“He was a control freak,” Lowell says. “A spook. A puppeteer. I don’t know why I thought the grave would stop him.”
“He was a tormented man,” Dr. Reuben says. “I think the key will tell you everything you need to know.”
Lowell sighs. “The key is to lock me in for life. I’m shackled to him.”
“You have a lot of anger locked inside you.”
Lowell laughs. “Oh shit. Wow. That’s clever. People pay you for that?”
“The key is under my hand on the bench now.”
“What if I throw the key away?”
“That, of course, would be up to you. But I would advise against it.”
“Sacred last will and testament. Honor thy father.”
“No. I would advise against it for much more pragmatic reasons. Because a message sent from beyond the grave, but thrown away unread, is going to haunt you. If you’re in an unstable state already, and I sense that you are … well, I know that you are. I know a great deal about you, naturally, because your father … Anyway, that sort of reactive impulsivity could be the coup de grâce, it could drive you over the edge. I’m going to put my hand back in my pocket now and I’m leaving. Please put your own hand over the key. There should be no need for further contact between us, but can I recommend strongly that you seek professional help?” He takes six steps and returns. “I would also request, however, that if you seek professional help, as you certainly should, you never mention my name.”
He walks away and does not look back.
Lowell places his hand over the key and sits watching the swan boats until the light fades.
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