'There's... this thing I do sometimes. I lie back and clear my mind and I can make myself believe that I'm dying.'
'I see. And what's that like?'
He considers her question. 'Sad,' he decides and then quickly switches to a better word: 'Disappointing.'
'Why?'
He shrugs. 'Because I don't get any more time. And the time I did have, I've wasted being... down. And I'm on my own. It's a sad way to die. On your own.'
'I can only imagine how lonely it is,' Dr. Rand murmurs. 'But tell me this. After this mental exercise of yours, do you feel motivated to make more of your time?'
'What is there to do with it?'
She smiles slightly. 'Are you accusing life of a lack of variety?'
He looks back and she sighs. 'Perhaps it would be better to first confront this sense of loneliness hounding you.'
'I'm used to it.'
'But you don't have to be. I can't imagine it's pleasant.'
'It's not.'
'If I asked you to, right now, could you think back to a time where you did not feel quite so alone?'
He pauses and there is a silence that stretches on. 'That's a nice pen,' he comments, nodding at the pen in her hand. 'When I started off, I used to write by hand. So I liked having nice pens.'
'You don't want to talk about her,' Dr. Rand says and he stiffens. 'How long has it been since she passed?'
This time she does not break the silence. Instead, she keeps the full weight of her gaze on him. And eventually, he stirs but his eyes do not rise from the ground.
'She... she might not be...'
Dr. Rand frowns, consulting her papers briefly. 'Might not be?' she repeats. The police report will need to be looked through again. 'Well then, allow me to rephrase the question. How long since you last saw her?'
He looks up, and she can see the anguish on his features. 'Please,' he whispers. 'Not today. Next time. Please.'
She was close this time. But he is fragile still and she does not want to push him.
'Alright,' she allows. 'Next time.'
