McKee looks like he wants to get up and run after Johnson's wife. But instead, he pulls his chair closer to Johnson's head. There's a practiced way in which he does it, as if he's done this before, a lot. And he has. With his dad.
MCKEE
How're you feeling?

JOHNSON
Like I got my ass kicked by a gang of shadows (beat) Yeah, I remember that.

MCKEE
I'm sorry, Bob. I should've got in there sooner.

JOHNSON
No. Wasn't your fault. Was theirs. We gotta take care of them. The whole nest.

MCKEE
I know. (he looks distressed) Once you're out of here, we'll take care of it.

JOHNSON
They almost got me this time. I wasn't anticipating that.

MCKEE
Do you think maybe they have a kind of right? I mean, they're the angry dead. They got a reason to be angry.

JOHNSON
I'm sure termites got a right to live, too--just not inside a house. They're dangerous, Seth. They've killed people, people who never did them no harm. And they're gonna keep on killing people until they're stopped.
He falls silent, closing his eyes and sinking back into the pillow. He's clearly exhausted, even from the little he's said. McKee looks near to tears and pretty exhausted, himself--red-eyed, hollow-cheeked and sallow-faced--the way we see him in the flashbacks to when his father was alive.
MCKEE
I--we'll take care of it, Bob. Just rest, okay?

JOHNSON
(eyes still closed) This isn't gonna get better, Seth. You know that more than anyone, even Janet. You know what's gonna happen. You've seen it. When the time comes, I'd like you to take care of it. I don't want to go out like some drooling vegetable. I want to go out on my feet like a man. Hell, on my knees is preferable to lying in a bed like this wearing a goddamned diaper.

MCKEE
I don't know if I can do that, Bob.
Johnson opens his eyes and looks at Seth.
JOHNSON
Your dad asked you to do the same thing, didn't he? I figured that was why you don't like guns. (off McKee's reaction) I'm not senile yet, Seth. Not all the time, anyway.

MCKEE
It's a tough request, Bob.

JOHNSON
Yeah, I don't suppose it's fair to ask you to spend the rest of your life in prison for euthanasia--though they might not even give you that. Might give you Murder in the First even if I did write it all down in a Living Will.

MCKEE
It's not just that. Killing someone, especially someone you care about...I don't think that's something I'm up for. I want to help you, Bob. I do. Problem is, there's never a best time for that kind of thing. It's either too early or too late to ask. And a gun? Pretty hardcore.
Johnson sees that he's pushed McKee as far as he can for now.
JOHNSON
Yeah...okay, let's talk about something easier. I want a Viking funeral.

MCKEE
(startled) What...?

JOHNSON
A Viking funeral. You know, where they stick you on a boat and pile up your possessions around you, comely virgin along for the ride, set it on fire and float it out into the ocean. I'm up for that.

MCKEE
(going along with the joke) Don't know how workable the virgin angle will be.

JOHNSON
Nah. Janet's practical. I don't want her to follow me into the afterlife. I want her to be happy after I'm gone, someday when it doesn't hurt so much, you know? And the virgin'll stay a virgin.

MCKEE
I meant, could be hard to find a comely virgin round these parts.

JOHNSON
(chuckles) No problem. Just go down to Disney World and pick up one of those girls who play Snow White. Tell her it's performance art. (off McKee's increasing distress) It's okay, Seth. It's gonna be okay.

MCKEE
No...no, it's not gonna be okay.

JOHNSON
Maybe not for me. Maybe not permanently. But you can go on and live a happy life. Get back together with that girlfriend from Galveston, maybe.

MCKEE
Not if I've got what my dad's got.

JOHNSON
Then, get the test.

MCKEE
Sure...sure, the test.
Johnson's wife comes back into the room with a soda. McKee gets up out of the chair, so upset he nearly turns the chair over.
MCKEE (CONT.)
I gotta go. I gotta go, man. I'll come back later this evening. After work.

WIFE
Seth, are you sure you should be driving--

MCKEE
(putting up a hand) No...no.
He stumbles out.
JOHNSON
Let him go, Janet. He's tired. We're all tired.

FADE OUT: