Sandy @ MindSay

Hello this is reverend Caleb Davis. I am here to tell u about the Holy Moose Named Frank and His mother Sandy from Grease. Yes sandy had frank at a greatful dead concert in 1973. after that he learned russian from a yugoslavian bard in an airport. well spread the good news of frank and u will recieve a good gift. frank would like to type sumthing. HELLO THIS IS FRANK I AM NOT, HERE ME OUT, I AM NOT FRANK ZAPPA. SEND ME YOUR PRAYERS AND I"LL ANSWER THEM!!!

Well see frank does exist! just send us your prayers and maybe thet will come true! hey couldnt be as bad as other broadcast preachers

I'm Gonna Guess Names: Josh Hudson

                                       Emily

                                       Whitley 

                                        All of the AC/DC Fans

                                        Your Mother

This is the kind of motel where people come to die.

I don't even know what its name is. Half the sign fell off a long time ago. The other half is covered with graffiti. When the poor woman who saw her fiancé beaten to death in front of her eyes finally pulled herself together, she was able to give us a description. A great description, too, all things considered.

As soon as we posted it on the five-o-clock news, we got a call from the man at the desk. Said he rented a room to a man with the same facial features.. hell, even the same clothes. Me and a few of the boys came over as fast as we could.

Most people think that if you shoot yourself in the mouth like this poor shit did, your brains go flying out the back of your head. Not true. With the caliber pistol he was using, they didn't get very far at all.

He didn't even get blood on the picture of the ocean hanging over his bed.

I pull his driver's license out of his pocket. I was right. This is the same man that murdered Charlie Reynolds. They were roommates for a few months. Then, one day, he choked him to death. Didn't even wear gloves. Nobody even knew Charlie was dead for a good three days. Then someone heard a lot of crashing around in the middle of the night.

It's an old cliché, but it still rings true for me once in a while. Sometimes, the criminal does return to the scene of the crime. Usually, they do it because they want to have a conversation with somebody who won't rat them out. Who knows what this sick fuck was looking for when he went back to Charlie's place. But he got out right before the boys showed up. Window was still open, and so were a couple of doors.

We matched up the fingerprints right away. This man was convicted of stealing a car a few years back. He shot the driver. We caught him at a roadblock near the edge of the city. But he was declared insane. Part of his sentence involved sessions with a psychiatrist. Dr. Anthony Shelton.

Dr. Anthony Shelton was murdered over a week ago. When his secretary came into his office in the morning, she found that the picture window the doctor had in his office had been shattered. He fell twenty stories.

He didn't have any appointments until 1:30 that afternoon, so we had no leads. I took the liberty of searching through his notes on my own time, but I couldn't understand a sentence of his psychobabble bullshit.

The last piece fell into place when a local bartender turned up dead in his home yesterday. One of the patrons remembered he got into an argument with a man that matched our description perfectly. Then, we went public.

Looking down at this dead man on the bed, now, it's easy to believe he could have killed four people without a weapon. He isn't especially muscled, but he has a large frame, and strong hands. But he had a weapon. He didn't buy this gun on the way here. Maybe it belonged to Charlie. Why would he kill all those people with his bare hands?

For kicks, probably. Just another twisted freak wandering this city. This one looking to have his fun by ruining people's lives.

Did it make you feel strong? I wonder, as I stare down at him. Did it make you feel like a man?

Then, I see the letter.

He's holding it in the hand that's not wrapped around the trigger. It's in an unmarked envelope. And it's not sealed.

Before the guys from forensics get here, I take the letter out of his hand. Standing with my back to them, the other officers can't see me turn around and take the sheet of paper out of the envelope. The handwriting is very clean.

To whom it may concern,

Let it be known that of all the causes worth fighting for, I find love to be the most valuable.

Love.

I turn around and look at his body, again. His eyes are closed. For the first time, I notice something about his expression. It almost looks like he's smiling. Then I blink, and it's gone.

I shove the note back into the envelope and lay it down on the bed. Then I walk over to the window and open the curtains. I can't see very far, but I can see almost everything this city has to offer. My mind is still on the corpse behind me.

Love. He was fighting for love. At least that's what he thought. He was crazy. A psycho killer.

But he was fighting for something.

I close my eyes and the world around me disappears. I don't see darkness. I see the face my first partner, who was shot through the head while he was riding next to me. The face of the first mother I had tell her that her daughter wasn't coming home. The crying, bruised face of a maniac who sang the blues while he died. And I see the dead, smiling face of that murderer behind me.

Why?

I see the face of the woman I loved. And how she looked when she left me. It was a week later that I joined the force. The long hours made it easier to not think of her. And in a city like this, there was always the possibility that I wouldn’t make it home. But that only matters if you’ve got somebody waiting for you.

The dead man laying on the bed. He thought he was fighting for love. How far am I from ending up like him?

I take a deep breath, and all the images vanish from my head. All I have left is darkness.

Darkness.

It's not so bad.

Dear Sandy,

There's nothing left for me in this city. Do you know why I came here? I wanted to start over. I didn't want to end up like my father, and his father, living on the same plot of land, struggling just to get by. I don't mean any disrespect. My dad did the best he could. Farming was all anyone ever taught him, because they never thought he could amount to anything else. They thought the same thing about me.

I came here because I thought I'd find something new. But it's the same problem here. You don't come by honest people because there's no money to be made in that. And everyone's always afraid. Afraid that some nutcase is going to pull them into an alley and cut their heads off. Afraid that their best friend is stealing from them behind their back. Afraid that there's no one left in this world that's worth a damn, and the only thing left to do is try to survive.

But I know better.

I'm not staying here one more day, Sandy. I can't bring myself to spend another lonely midnight walking the streets, trying to think about anything but my own problems. Looking for something that might make me happy, and knowing that it's not there.

Do you remember when you used to ask my what I dreamt about, and I told you that I didn't know? It was a lie. I dreamt about running away. Getting in the car and driving north, as far north as I could go. Somewhere cool. Where you don't spend your nights on street, breathing in the sticky air and trying not to choke. You spend them inside, in front of a fire, with someone you care about. I never told you, because I thought it sounded stupid. But that was when I didn't know that stupid means being alone when you don't have to.

I'll be seeing you soon.

Yours always.

Dear Sandy,

Do you remember that guy I met a few days ago, in the bar? I saw his picture on the news. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but isn't that just the damndest thing? I wonder what he's up to now. It's a terrible shame I didn't find out who he was. I really do think you'd like him, though. He was nice. Not like some people you meet.

Some people are just rude. Like the bartender I ran into last night. He kept staring at me. I tried to ignore him, but them he came over to where I was sitting and asked me to leave. Can you believe that, Sandy? I know i'm not much of a looker, but if he was worried about me scaring off his customers, I would have gladly sat in the corner. I just wanted a place where I could get a drink. To be honest, the bar I told you about on 5th street was getting a little old. I explained to the bar tender that I wasn't gonna stay for long, but he wouldn't have any of it.

I would have just gone for another walk, but I was tired. It was the strangest thing, Sandy. Usually I can't get to sleep without having a drink or two, but I was just exhausted. So I checked into a motel for the night. I couldn't go back to Charlie's place, and I don't know anyone else in town. It wasn't always like that, though. I used to have a lot of friends, Sandy. You wouldn't have approved of all of them. Some of them did some fairly unpleasent things. But they were polite, at least. That's very important.

Yours always.

Dear Sandy,

I know, it's been a few months since my last letter. You should really come visit me sometime. But I guess the city has never been your thing, has it? That's fine. I know, it's not for everyone.

They took me off my medication. I just thought I should tell you that.

I've been having a great time, though. I didn't realize how much that fuckin' stiff of a psychatrist was holding me back. I know you like me to visit him, Sandy, but I just can't do it anymore. That guy had no idea what he was talking about. What was his name again? Anthony. Doctor Anthony, he told me to call him.

Bullshit.

I moved out of my old apartment. Ever since Julia left me, I couldn't stand it. I tried throwing out all of the shit that reminded me of her. It didn't work. I know you always said that she wasn't right for me, but I have trouble letting go. Hell, you should know that better than anyone. Trouble is, I still haven't found a new place to live. I'm crashing at Charlie's right now. He's a cool guy, you know. I never could figure out why you two didn't get along.

I found this great club out down on 5th street. I've been going there every night for a week, now. Charlie, he works in the daytime, so he doesn't like me pacing around his living room at all hours of the night. The club's open until 2. After that, I usually just walk. Insomnia. Runs in the family.

The band was great tonight. I met a guy I really think you'd like. I never got his name, but he was real quiet. You always liked quiet, didn't you? That's what I respect about you, Sandy. You don't say anything if it isn't important. Kinda like this guy, only he didn't say much of anything. I saw him sittin' there all alone and I felt bad for him. So I sat down next to him, and aksed him what he thought about the weather. He said it hadn't been raining enough. He told me we were due for a big storm, said that I should stay inside for a while.

After that, he wouldn't really say anything else. Funny guy, though. A few minutes later, he shot these two cops. I don't know why they were after him, but I'm sure it must have been a mistake. Nice guy like that, he didn't need any trouble. Not that i'm condoning what he did, Sandy, you know that. You know i'm against violence. Then he shot two more people, a woman and some guy. I didn't get a good look at this guy, but I'm sure he must have done something bad. Otherwise he wouldn't have gotten shot. I gotta say, I was a little upset he shot that woman. I could never stand to see a guy do anything bad to a woman. But she must've had it coming. This guy was too nice to go off and shoot some girl for no reason. I was about to ask him about it, but he left after all that. Everyone else left, but the band was still playing, so I stayed.

Then a whole bunch of other cops showed up and started askin' me a lot of questions. I told them he was a nice guy, and that I was sure this whole thing was just a misunderstanding. The guy who was interviewing me was real tall. You know, kinda like your dad, Sandy. Only this guy wasn't the same kind of guy your dad was. He had these big eyes. Of course between his hair and the fact that he kept looking down and writing on something, I didn't get a real good look at them.

I felt bad for this guy, though. He seemed so uptight. I told him to relax. I don't think he heard me, though. Someone was telling him about a car, a Volkswagon. Maybe he's got a daughter, or maybe a son who's turning sixteen, and he's getting them one for their birthday. I couldn't really hear what the other cop was saying. But if that's true, it's a good choice. Volkswagon. Good, reliable car.

I don't really remember what happened next, Sandy. You know how I am. I must have been drinking. If it comes to my head, I'll tell you the rest, okay, Sandy?

Yours always.