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Synopsis | Excerpts
| From the First Chapter
Deviant Shelter:
Year Three of The New Social System (NSS)
A Novel by Tom O’Connell
ISBN 978-0-9827766-0-5
Copyright Tom O’Connell 2010
SYNOPSIS:
Length: 60,000 words
Time: Future
Avernus Province, The New Social System (NSS)
A Kafka epigraph hints at the tone of this suspense novel about an alienated man in a totalitarian society that may now be forming. Here is the Kafka quote: “If the book we are reading does not wake us, as with a fist hammering on our skull, why then do we read it? A book must be an ice-axe to break the sea frozen inside us.”
The story is seen through the eyes of a psychotherapist who dispassionately observes the central character through video units. Each chapter is a case summary reporting the “deviant’s” behavior.
Here are the opening lines that set the scene: “This is my first assignment at the new Deviant Shelter in Bentham. It is a pleasure to work in a psychological deviant shelter with the latest technology.
“It is Year Three of The New Social System (NSS) and all mental health institutions, prisons and correctional facilities in the United Econocratic Provinces have been replaced with deviant shelters for those who do not fit the government’s current definition of ‘normal.’
“It is a pleasure to work in a psychological deviant shelter with the latest technology. Doctor Wylie Fayne, who is the first resident to experience our new Time Void Therapy, is in the Total Scrutiny Wing of the shelter that has been designed as a pyramid.
“The Doctor has been fitted with new neuropsychological implants (NPI) and his therapy is designed to return him to a healthy mental condition. He has completed his first session.
“The resident deviant is in complete solitude. Time has been eliminated from his environment. He exists in extreme isolation with his jumbled thoughts, impressions, voices and scenes.”
When we first observe the “deviant” whose mental condition is in question, he is in his triangular-shaped space going through one of his disorderly phases. We see and hear him act out angrily in an apparently insane way.
We watch his bizarre actions and we see how he reacts to his only human contact. We observe his reaction to his attendant Sumner's report that the whole country is outraged by the writing of an author named Lance Crowne and that “the people” want to see him dead because he has written a treasonous book titled The Betrayal. Among other goals, Doctor Fayne’s therapy is designed to verify whether or not the deviant is the author of the subversive literature.
Following the deviant into an automated cleaning room where he is bathed in the same way a car is washed, we are with him as he is led down corridors to a distant room where an entity called The Keeper is going to have a “therapeutic dialogue” with him.
We feel his helplessness and his anger as he tries to resist the treatment program that has been designed to bring him to a condition described as “normal.”
In The Keeper's chamber, he is motivated to kneel and face a golden screen. The Keeper's voice comes at him from that screen and, with the assistance of medications, he is prompted to tell his true life story.
At a certain point, the drugs wear off and he returns to his earlier behavior. Then he is taken back to his solitary triangle by Sumner to await a future visit with The Keeper.
The next time we observe Doctor Fayne he has shifted to an opposite phase. He is now neat, clean, orderly and religiously pious. Acting as if he is hosting an inspirational television program, we see him talk directly to the camera.
The deviant's orderly and disorderly phases wrap around the core story, which is a personal narration by the deviant about his own life. The development of this story is guided by the unseen Keeper's questions.
We are introduced in this tale to the possibilities of dehumanization that exist in conformist, authoritarian societies where an individual who is uncomfortable with the system can rapidly be transformed into a non-person.
As the core story unfolds, the central character reflects on his past. We see how Doctor Fayne, prior to his confinement, apparently became progressively alienated from the world in which he lived as a college philosophy professor frustrated with the trends of modern times.
Learning that he has published his own provocative newsletter as a vehicle to comment critically on the problems of the times, we may wonder if perhaps he is, after all, the seditious writer who must die.
In the orderly and disorderly phases in his triangle we see Doctor Fayne portray an angry rebel and a serene monk. As we read, we become part of a mental dance of clashing ideas. And we also see a love story develop within the core story. Clues about the love story are sprinkled into the scenes. Also, we are exposed to the possibilities of alcoholism in Doctor Fayne and mental disease in his wife Anna.
Deviant Shelter poses questions on the meaning of life both for an individual and for a member of society. It poses questions on the pursuit of goals and how much of a person's soul must be sacrificed to win the prizes. And it poses questions about the value of life in a society in which a person who questions a collectivist system may be viewed as a "deviant" and stripped of all dignity in an attempt to shape him into a conforming member of the group.
The novel contains elements of a tragic love affair, split personalities, psychotherapy, spiritual factors, and questions about the future of this planet. These elements are woven into a fabric that ranges from the bizarre to the sublime.
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“If the book we are reading does not wake us, as with a fist hammering on our skull, why then do we read it?
So that it shall make us happy? Good God, we would also be happy if we had no books, and such books as make us happy we could, if need be, write ourselves.
“But what we must have are those books which come upon us like ill-fortune, and distress us deeply, like the death of one we love better than ourselves, like suicide.
“A book must be an ice-axe to break the sea frozen inside us.” --Franz Kafka, letter at age 20
Epigraphs
“To different minds, the same world is a hell, and a heaven.”
--Ralph Waldo Emerson
“Anyone who really knows the human psyche will agree with me when I say that it is one of the darkest and most mysterious regions of our experience.” --C.G. Jung
“Instead of disappearing, authority has made itself invisible. Instead of overt authority, ‘anonymous’ authority reigns. It is disguised as common sense, science, psychic health, normality, public opinion...There is nobody and nothing to fight back against.” --Erich Fromm
“It is at once our loneliness and our dignity to have an incommunicable personality that is ours, ours alone and no one else's, and will be so forever.” --Thomas Merton<
“The face of truth remains hidden behind a circle of gold. Unveil it, O God of light, that I who love the true may see!” --Isa Upanishad
“Good is set against evil, and life against death, so also is the sinner against a just man. And so look upon all the works of the Most High, two and two, and one against another.” --Ecclesiasticus, 33:15
“Anyone who really knows the human psyche will agree with me when I say that it is one of the darkest and most mysterious regions of our experience"
—C. G. Jung
EXCERPTED:
(Excerpts from the pages of Deviant Shelter:
Year Three of The New Social System (NSS)
A Novel by Tom O’Connell
ISBN 978-0-9827766-0-5 Copyright Tom O’Connell 2010
(Chapter 1) Video units suspended from the ceiling in the three corners of the triangle provide constant surveillance of his activities. Each unit includes a video receiver and player, camera, microphone and amplifier.
There are no reflective surfaces in the triangle. The television receiver high above him does not reflect any images of the room. His word processor screen is permanently covered with a substance that protects the machine from harm and also eliminates reflections. The bright overhead lighting is diffused so that even a puddle on the floor will not give back a reflection. There is no way for him to observe his own appearance.
(Chapter 2) “Life at the orphanage was totally disciplined. The Brothers had a complete book publishing operation and every orphan was part of the enterprise. When I was only five years old I was working in the book bindery carrying glue pots to the cover machine. By the time I was seven I was running a cover machine. At nine I was an apprentice to a typesetter. I didn't know what being a child was. I only knew about work.
“Up at dawn every day. Scrubbing floors and cleaning up before breakfast. Oatmeal for breakfast. Daily Mass in the chapel. School. A light lunch. Working in the bindery. Religious instruction. Memorizing prayers. Singing hymns. A skimpy piece of meat and bland vegetables for supper. Evening Benediction. Assigned reading. Baths. Sleep. Day after day. On and on. The same pattern.”
(Chapter 3) "Ah, you're way over the border, Fayne. One time I come in and you're wild and raunchy and another time you're some kind of religious fanatic. I don't know why I even bother talking to you."
The Doctor remained silent as they walked along the corridor. Then there was a slight tremor and the sound of distant rumbling. "Probably some of those FRN sympathizers planting their bombs. Or maybe another one of those demonstrations with fireworks about that writer Lance Crowne. They want that traitor dead, Fayne. I don't think they'd be satisfied if he went to a patho shelter for retraining or reorganizing his brain. No. They want him dead."
(Chapter 4) The deviant’s voice began to fade as he recited quietly. Then he raised his voice so I could hear him continue: “And admirably schooled in every grace: In fine, we thought that he was everything…So on we worked, and waited for the light, And went without the meat, and cursed the bread; And Richard Cory, one calm summer's night, Went home and put a bullet through his head.”
(Chapter 5) "Now, Doctor, let us proceed with The Unveiling. During our last session you were telling me that you were practicing celibacy to avoid Anna’s domineering approach to sexual intimacy.”
“Yes, that was the way it was for a while. And then a kind of seduction began. As I was growing more humble and less professorial and more Christian in a down-to-earth way, Anna was growing less like a radical feminist and very methodically making herself more alluring. She was changing her appearance to tempt me and invited me to her room late at night. She would greet me with nothing on except her sheer lingerie. But I hadn’t forgotten the pain of her previous scorn and abuse, so I maintained my celibacy.”
(Chapter 6) He cupped his right hand around his right ear. “You say you’re the abandoned bride? What bride? I can hear you, but I can't see you. Why can't I see you?” He looked toward the velvet wall. "There. I see you now, with your white dress.
“You say I betrayed you? I never betrayed anybody. You saw God on a crucifix? Never! Anna who? I don't know any Anna.” He began rubbing his eyes hard and shaking his head rapidly. Then he started pushing his hands away from his face, as if pushing an object or a person, and he shouted, “Get out of my eyes!”
(Chapter 7) "Doctor Fayne," interjected The Keeper over the amplification system. “This is not a chapel. We are a nonsectarian institution. Have I not told you that there are no more religious institutions in the Provinces? You are here to complete The Unveiling, and you would be well advised to proceed immediately, without further impulsive actions, to the set of three steps so that we may continue where we left off during our previous session.”
(Chapter 8) He stood there a while, and when no other frightening visions erupted in front of him, he carefully slid down and seated himself in the scoop-back chair, looked at the velvet wall, sighed, and said angrily, "Damn snakes, wolves, triangles, circles and squares. Never any peace.” He got up fast, went to the bookcase, pushed aside the soiled copies of Goethe's Faust and The Basic Writings of Sigmund Freud, then grabbed the clean white-covered book with the red and black lettering: The Prince, by Machiavelli.
(Chapter 9) When Doctor Fayne gave visual proof that he would now be compliant enough to continue, The Keeper said, "During your last session with me, you were telling me about the four variations of Anna...the conservative social worker, the pleasure addict, the woman in the white dress who thought she was your abandoned bride, and the depressed widow. You were saying that Anna the widow was in such a state of torment that her facial structure was changing. What kind of a look did she have, Doctor?"
FROM THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Case Report
Deviant: Fayne, Wylie, Ph.D.
Number: I
Shelter: Bentham Deviant Shelter
Province: Avernus
Housing: Total Scrutiny
Therapy: Time Void
Technique: Observation and dialogue
Condition: To be ascertained.
Summary of Introductory Session Number 1
This is my first assignment at the new Deviant Shelter in Bentham. It is a pleasure to work in a psychological deviant shelter with the latest technology.
It is Year Three of The New Social System (NSS) and all mental health institutions, prisons and correctional facilities in the United Econocratic Provinces have been replaced with deviant shelters for those who do not fit the government’s current definition of ‘normal.’
It is an honor to serve in a psychological deviant shelter with the latest technology. Doctor Wylie Fayne, who is the first resident to experience our new Time Void Therapy, is in the Total Scrutiny Wing of the shelter that has been designed as a pyramid.
The Doctor has been fitted with new neuropsychological implants (NPI) and his therapy is designed to return him to a healthy mental condition. He has completed his first session.
The resident deviant is in complete solitude. Time has been eliminated from his environment. He exists in extreme isolation with his jumbled thoughts, impressions, voices and scenes.
The professor has the distinction of being the first to experience the new Time Void Therapy and appropriate neuropsychological implants (NPI) have been attached to his nervous system. The goal of his therapy is to move him toward an acceptable mental condition so he can be useful to the government.
The clinical record indicates that the deviant became traumatized and delusional after he was attacked by an angry mob. The crowd believed he was the unknown author of a treasonous book that was savagely critical of The New Social System. After his rescue from the violent mob, he was admitted to this new psychological deviant shelter for observation and therapy.
The deviant seems to have no consistent world view because he appears to have no clear chain of memories that work sequentially from a beginning to an end. It is as if someone has erased his memory and replaced it with a scattering of impressions, scenes, and feelings that have no logical connection with one another. These images appear to be like dream or nightmare images. Also, he sometimes responds to voices that praise, curse, or condemn him.
He has compulsive urges, too. One of them is his repetition of words and actions ad infinitum. For example, he fills pages of paper with one-line messages during long hours at the word processor.
Based on my review of initial video screening of his behavior during his first days here, I believe his current mental existence is a chaos of opposite factors. His language is either extremely negative or exceptionally positive. His personal hygiene is either unkempt or fanatically neat. And he is now in one of his negative, unkempt phases.
When I began my first formal observation today, his triangular quarters were littered with balls of printed paper that he had crumpled and heaved at random over his shoulder. There were puddles on the floor from splashed water and from bodily functions. There was also garbage here and there, from meals that had not suited his taste.
He seemed to be oblivious to his surroundings as he sat in his scoop-back chair, with eyes closed and head hanging down so that the tip of his black-and-gray beard was touching the top of his bony chest.
Suddenly his eyes opened and his clenched fist waved at a video camera in one of the corners of his triangle and he shouted, “Get lost!” His dark brown eyes were flashing with intensity as he repeated the shout and leaped from his chair so fast that his knee-length gray smock went flying up around his hips. Then, with his cloth-slippered feet, he kicked his way in a straight line toward the electrified steel door which is activated by sensors.
Doctor Fayne worked up some phlegm, coughed it onto his tongue, and let the wad of spit fly onto the door. On contact, the sensors were activated and the spit sizzled into a combination of smoke and steam. He watched the spit disappear and shook his head. Then he pounded on the door with his fists and was repelled backward forcefully by the electric shock. He muttered, "I’m stuck." Then he repeated this sequence of behavior several times.
Finally, he went to the word processor and examined the printed manuscript page. It was nearly filled with the line, “God help me!” He continued to type the same phrase until the sheet was filled. Then he stared at the paper for a while, yanked it out of the printer, crumpled it, and threw it over his shoulder, muttering, “There’s something screwed up here.”
Hitching up his smock, he rubbed his genitals with part of the material, took another piece of paper, and began typing on the word processor keyboard again. He went through the same cycle of behavior, filling the paper with the same phrase, throwing it away, and making the same comment. Eventually, he returned to his scoop-back chair and slumped into it with a massive sigh.
He fixed his eyes on the black velvet wall opposite him and sat quietly for a moment. The deep vertical crease in his forehead, extending up from the bridge of his nose, flattened out as his breathing slowed. Then he tensed up again as he looked at the camera through which I was observing him.
“Why are you doing this to me?” he shouted. “What have I done to deserve this?” He shook his head. “No answer. Never any answer.”
Then he clutched his head, squinted, and moaned as his face contorted with pain. Trying to get up, he did not make it. He vomited onto the floor and some of the mess covered his own feet. Apparently, it was another migraine headache.
Again he slumped back into the chair and began to relax. Then he sat up straight and muttered, “Ouch! Damn! It’s you again, Flea!”
Pulling the flea from his forearm, he held it between his index finger and thumb and said, “Why do you keep attaching yourself to me? I don't need you. What if I were to squeeze you till there was no you left? Would you like that? Hah. You have courage, don't you? Or are you just ignorant?
“Where are the others? Sleeping? The three of you can be irritating, you know. I want to be alone now, so will you tell the others I’m in no mood for company today? I have some very important work to do and have no time for social niceties.
“Did you hear what I said? I have no time! Do you get the subtle humor? No time? I am receiving Time Void Therapy, so I have no time. Do you think that’s funny? No. Your sense of humor is not highly developed. You make a very unsatisfactory companion. Go! Leave me now! Let me be.”
He flicked the flea in the direction of the bunk. Once again, he gazed at the black velvet wall where he apparently saw a form of some kind. Then he muttered, “Yes, I know. You’re absolutely right. How could anyone question your sincerity? I do understand. Maybe you should try...”
Pausing, he whispered, “Listen to it hiss. Like a snake.” He closed his eyes tightly, clamped his hands over his ears, pressed his lips together, and hunched up in a ball in his chair. Then the high pressure hose nozzles up above spurted a flow of chemically treated water throughout the entire triangle. It drenched him and spun him around in his chair several times. Then the water stopped, the chair stopped whirling, and a rush of hot air filled the room, rapidly drying everything in it, including Doctor Fayne.
The protective technology surrounding all equipment in the triangle worked very efficiently. The electrification of the steel door was not affected by the spraying action, nor was any harm done to the newly designed word processing equipment. The debris that had been littering the floor was compressed into a soggy but cleansed mass near the drain in the corner. The cleaning operation was flawless. It is a tribute to the engineers who designed this facility.
After the spraying had stopped, Doctor Fayne shouted, “Damn your spray!” He remained seated in his scoop-back gray plastic chair shouting at the nearest overhead video camera, “You’re killing me! You’re wiping me out!”
He paused and as he clenched his teeth I saw his jaw muscles ripple. He was experiencing great tension. Shaking his head in dismay, he shot a fearful glance at the camera. “Why are you wiping me out?” he asked with a shrug. “No answer. They never answer.”
He closed his eyes, breathed a heavy sigh as he slumped back into the chair, slowed his breathing, and seemed to be going into a state of complete rest. Then he opened his eyes and grunted. “Damn them and their triangle.” He sighed again, closed his eyes, and said no more. His breathing slowed as his hands rested limply in his lap. There was complete silence in the triangle now, other than his breathing.
I am impressed with the design of Doctor Fayne's three-walled, pie-shaped room with no windows. The concrete walls are about five meters long. Two walls are a dull gray texture. The remaining wall is covered with permanently inlaid black velvet that seems even blacker as it contrasts with the rest of the room that is predominantly gray. It is quite suitable for our purposes.
In front of the black velvet wall, mounted on a solid plastic pedestal a little to the right of the wall's center, there is a free-standing green-and-silver dart board for the Doctor's therapeutic recreational use. During the observation, I saw that the three green darts were resting in the bull's-eye. The darts are plastic and fitted with heads that stick to the board by a combination of magnetism and friction.
The Doctor's triangle is compact and utilitarian, with most objects fixed in place securely. The only mobile items I observed are such things as his clothing, towels and linen, the books in his bookcase, his word processor paper, his toilet tissue, and the three darts.
Even the plastic meal trays that carry his food to him on a dumbwaiter are fitted with lightweight but unbreakable plastic chains that can only be stretched as far as the top of his utility table.
Video units suspended from the ceiling in the three corners of the triangle provide constant surveillance of his activities. Each unit includes a video receiver and player, camera, microphone and amplifier.
There are no reflective surfaces in the triangle. The television receiver high above him does not reflect any images of the room. His word processor screen is permanently covered with a substance that protects the machine from harm and also eliminates reflections. The bright overhead lighting is diffused so that even a puddle on the floor will not give back a reflection. There is no way for him to observe his own appearance.
Every item he needs for his basic existence is included in the triangle. Push-button shower. Toilet. Refuse disposal system. Drainage. Lighting. Ventilation. Washbowl. Blow-drier. Water bubbler. Bunk bed. Chair. Stool. Bookcase. Electronic word processing computer and printer.
There is no way for the Doctor to escape the video cameras. There is no partition in the triangle. Nor is there any space under the bunk bed, which is permanently fixed to the floor. The only way in or out of the triangle is through an electrified solid steel door that has a one-way viewing device so that only those outside can look in. Doctor Fayne cannot see beyond his triangular space.
The television receiver, which may be utilized later in therapy, currently provides neither picture nor sound. Nor is there anything in his space to give any indication of time. There is no compromise in his therapy. Time is completely missing. And there are no outside sensations that have any regularity. Even the visits from his only human contact are made at random.
As my first observation continued, Doctor Fayne sat with eyes closed. His breathing was almost stopped when a clicking sound broke the deep silence. It was followed by the electronic buzz that comes before the door slides open.
The Doctor kept his eyes closed and waited. As the attendant’s footsteps approached him, he continued to keep his eyes closed. Then the attendant stood in front of him and said, “Fayne, who are you trying to fool? I know you’re awake.” Doctor Fayne opened his eyes slowly, looked up, and said, “Oh. It’s you...”
"Right, Fayne. It’s me. Sumner."
The Doctor gave Sumner a contemptuous look, with clenched teeth. Then there was a long silence. As for the attendant, his appearance was excellent. His uniform was functional. The endless plastic belt around the waist seems ideally suited for the lock-switch electronic keys which adjust temperatures and lights and open doors. I noted that the belt also has small pockets attached to it for medication cartridges and is fitted with a secure holster for the medication gun.
The selection of the attendant was ideal. He is about as opposite to Doctor Fayne as a human being can be. He is dull and witless while the Doctor's intelligence at times borders on brilliance. The Doctor has dark brown eyes, a broad forehead, and a bony bearded face. Sumner has vacant blue eyes, stares in an unblinking manner, has a low forehead, and his face is clean-shaven.
Doctor Fayne's complexion is pale while Sumner's complexion is sallow. Doctor Fayne's frame is long and thin while Sumner is short, rugged, and broad-shouldered. The Doctor has gray streaks in his black hair. Sumner has uninterrupted blackness in his thick hair and sideburns. The Doctor's facial features are symmetrical. Sumner has a parrot nose and a drooping right eyelid that gives his left eye the impression that it is bulging. I cannot imagine an attendant more suited to our purposes.
Sumner confronted the Doctor about ignoring his presence. “I'm nobody's fool, Fayne. I knew you weren’t sleeping.”
The Doctor responded, “Nobody's fool? No, you're a jewel. Especially when you drool. Congratulations, Slumner, and may your tribe increase.”
“Tribe? I have no tribe. And the name’s Sumner, not Slumner. How many times do I have to tell you that, Fayne? Can't you remember anything? ”
The Doctor remained silent as his attendant examined the triangle, sniffed a pile of debris, and complained about having no cleaning to do. “They flooded you again, huh Fayne?”
Doctor Fayne continued to remain silent as Sumner filled the disposal bin with the soggy litter and discharged the refuse through the trap leading to a chute connecting with the central disposal area. The equipment functioned perfectly.
Sumner told the Doctor how filthy it must have been in his triangle to need the cleaning operation. “The water guns don’t flood the place till the stench gets more than most people can stand, you know. I guess there’s no stench too much for your nose, huh Fayne?”
The attendant’s face was completely without emotion as he made these statements to the Doctor. Combining limited intelligence, vulgarity, flat emotions, and humorlessness, Sumner appears to very satisfactorily fulfill the criteria we established for his position. Also, his lengthy experience at a pathological deviant shelter should be very beneficial.
“Fayne, if you played your cards right you’d be out of this place in no time. But I guess you don’t know any better.”
“I don’t play cards, Slumner,” replied the Doctor. “I’ve given them up, you see. Blackjack! I win! You lose!” He laughed derisively at Sumner.
Sumner replied, “You don’t know what end is up, Fayne.”
The Doctor kept repeating “Blackjack! I win! You lose!”
Then something attracted his attention as he looked toward the black velvet wall. “You say your name is Anna? I don’t know any Anna. Failed you? How could I have failed you if I don't even know you? How could I...gone. No answer for my questions. Never any answer.”
Sumner asked, “Are you seeing things, Fayne? Well, you better get moving. The Kuh... Kuh...Keeper wants to see you in his chamber and he doesn’t wait for anybody, Fayne.” Sumner’s voice was tremulous as he spoke.
The doctor replied, “Sweeper? Is that what you said, Slumner?”
“I said Kuh…Kuh…Keeper, Fayne. If you don't get moving you’re going to regret it. You’ll activate one of the implanted non-cooperation chips in your NPI.”
“I’m rising and moving, Slumner. Slumner says to rise. Fayne rises. Simple transaction.”
When Doctor Fayne stood up he was about a head higher than his attendant. This did not intimidate Sumner, who was pointing toward the electrified steel door. When activated by a quick wave, Sumner’s hand could send electronic impulses to a variety of devices designed to provide security as well as electrical motivation to the deviant.
Sumner activated the door and motivated the Doctor to enter the dull silver-gray corridor, which is also without windows and very effectively covered by video units making uninterrupted surveillance possible.
“We’re going to The Clean Room,” Sumner explained.
The Doctor trembled visibly. “The Clean Room? Do you mean the death chamber? Is this the end of me? Am I meeting my Maker?”
“No, Fayne, you’re meeting your Kuh...Kuh...Keeper. But you’ve got to get cleaned up first. You have to be spotless before you visit.”
“What does this Keeper person look like?”
“Who knows? Nobody sees the Kuh... Kuh...Keeper and lives to talk about it, Fayne. If you see him, then I think your next stop’s going to be The Trap. Then maybe I’ll get to see you again...in the morgue. It’s going to be part of my job here, taking care of the morgue. I think I’m going to like it there. I’m expecting to meet a nice class of people, if you know what I mean.”
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