We are on Skype now, Erik and I. At first I didn't want to, but he was insisting. Truth is, it isn't just because I don't want to wake anyone in the house, but really, I don't know what to say to him. I am feeling burdened with him, as well as with all my sudden houseguests, and frightened and resentful. He wants me to explain to him what I know about Lindstrom and how. I am waiting for him to put on his headphones, and I have just found and adjusted mine, because I really want this call to be as quiet as possible.
"How did you first hear about him?" asks Erik.
"From Kenny's diary."
"Kenny?"
"He was my best friend and lived here with my dad and I for five years."
"You never told me about him."
"No?"
"No. never." This of course does not surprise me. I have never been in the habit of disclosing information that didn't seem absolutely essential. Dad used to tell me I was secretive. But he should talk. It took years before I could pry even basic information from him about my mother, especially about her death. And of course, my wife and brother in law were also your classic monosyllabic Swedes...
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