How long have you been in prison? What would you do if you ever got out? Who would you go see?

So back to you. You have to admit your theory does sound pretty crazy. I mean, I think about my characters all the time, but that won't somehow make them real all of a sudden. Did your Granny drop you on the head a lot as a child or something like that?

Do the people you kill deserve it, or are they just a nuisance in front of you?

Is there anyone you won't kill?

I'm telling you...

Isn't that what this is about? You're just like Sheila. She asks questions but never listens to the answers. I didn't KILL anyone! Not really. I mean, Reagan was supposed to be fictional. I can't help that stuff. But here, in our world, my hands are clean. Swear it on my dad's grave.

"Nice padded cell, Sam. Tell me, what checkers taste better? The red or black?"

"OWWW!"

*Rubs back of head where KDW smacked with a rolled-up newspaper*

Hello Mr Kent. My name is Dr Andrew Halifast. Snapper sent me but I can assure you, despite my association with him I am a serious practioner in psychology.
I have been a psychiatrist for 15 years. I specialize in matters involving family's. Although criminal behavior is out of my line of work, I believe we can develop a working relationship that we can both benefit from.

So, how does this work? You're gonna play Clarice, and we'll do a little quid pro quo about lambs?

Whatever. I guess I can clear my schedule.

Now, I'll go over the innocent part for you. In-no-cent. That means I didn't do it. Everyone else got the innocent wrong, because they all said guilty. The reason I'm not sharing a cell with the rest of the murderers, the reason I'm special and get the nice dixie cup full of happy pills is because people are so stupid and fat and happy that they are too scared to stop and look around ask a question or two. Those people on the jury, they believe that insurance will cover their a$$e$ and that the world is made up of Tivo and Starbucks and American Idol. They think that's real, and while they drive through and pick up their #2 Combo to make it home in time to see who's getting eliminated, their imaginations and minds are rotting away. The jury thinks that in order for something to be real, it has to fit into this neat pre-fab box. But I know there's something outside of the box. There's Reagan, and he's as real to me as your iPhone is to you.

Reagan killed those people. Reagan DuSaint got in a hissy over his girl getting hung in my last novel and he hopped realites, put a gun in my face and told me to write her back to life. If Ronnie hadn't been such a jealous girlfriend, she might have got to keep her head. But Ronnie didn't believe I was there with Reagan, she thought it was another woman. She got in the way, and Reagan got justice for his girl. A neck for a neck sort of thing. Only I did what he said, I brought his girl back. Mines gone for good. And I'm here because as soon as I finished writing, as soon as I printed those pages, Reagan had to go back and live them. So when the cops show up and my only living witness is in a coma, they didn't buy the whole "My Imaginary Friend Did It" plea. They said I was crazy.

But they are wrong.

So, now, tell me again... How are we supposed to help each other out? Hey... you don't believe me, do you?

[This message has been edited by Reagansgame (edited August 30, 2008).]

Sue killed her mom. The man was a detective. Her sister uncovered it, so she capped her, too.

I'm going with the killer theme since that seems to be where you are already. But, since you asked for honesty, I have now freaking clue, man. Sue could've been on the clock and didn't get the guys number because her pimp would've gone upside her head. It could have been as simple as her sister was in her stash or they got in a car accident and it was ruled homicide.

You got it all figured out, now?

That's good. Submit it to a medical journal. Crack the Sam Kent Case. Go on Opera and tell her how you touched the mind of the monster. I don't care.

I've had extensive, in depth work-ups. They all say I'm cracked, my friend. But, I will agree with you on the one thing. I shouldn't be in here with these drooly diaper wearing freaks. I'm no loon.

Now, my turn to ask a question.

{unbuttons top two buttons of jumper and pulls at white undershirt collar}

Do you see this? This scar came from something close to a .41 Rimfire bullet. Fired at close range from one of a pair of derringers that my scion carries. Do you see the scar, Dr. Helifast? Just making sure that you saw it. I don't want you to come back later on and say you don't believe that I believe that I showed you where Reagan shot me when I really didn't believe in him. You're right about that, too by the way. You got your dollars worth at that Dr. college of yours. I don't believe Reagan did anything. I know it. I saw it.

I've got plenty of people pointing their fingers at me saying "Lookie! That's that crazy Storybook Murderer guy!" you don't have to wear a fancy suit and talk all smug and use analogies shaped into riddles to do that. You just have to get in line.

You are quite the writer and you are correct. You do have quite the imagination. The riddle didn't have all the info that you needed so you added your own. That suggests that you have a calculating mind.

I see that scar, from my limited knowledge of tramatic wounds, that could have been caused by a few different methods. Even if it was a gunshot wound, what would make me believe that it wasn't self-inflicted?

Okay, Sam. Here's a few more.

1) You are a writer. Reagan is your creation, therefore in your head. Even if he 'came to life' as you suggest, wouldn't that make you partially responsible for the murder?

2) I haven't heard any remorse for Ronnie's death. In fact it sounded as if she had it coming, from your brief recollection of the event. Do you not feel a little responsible for her murder?

And as far as Ron goes. O'course I loved her. You wanna talk about a woman in her prime --- shame. I'm not tryin to sound cold. I'm not saying she deserved to die. She shouldn't have. Especially not like that. Ha! She would have died if she knew how she died, she was so nit picky about her face, you know. Anyway, no, man. It shouldn't have gone down like that... but if she could have put a lid on the petulant jealousy and caught my drift, instead of immediately jumping to the conclusion that I was lying about the "someone else" I was with, then she would've made her Saturday spa appointment. I used the one chance I had to call for help on her, and she thought I was with another woman! I should have listened to the whispers, but I really didn't think she was THAT dumb.

And as for the last... I'm working on it. Reagan came to me last time, I didn't summon him. I didn't even know he was real or I would've said No-effin-way when Word asked if I wanted to save him. I know now, though. So, I'm working on it. I figure, I get him pissed off enough... he'll come back (In the sequel by R. Safley) and then it's on. Because next time, I won't have another girlfriend with detachable head laying around. Next time, I won't have anything else to lose. Then, it will be a different game, all together.

Oooh, is it my turn? I get to ask now...

Before I started writing I was the same. Just broke. I worked at Blockbuster-- or was it Burger King? and was trying to save up enough to move out of my grandma's house.

I met Veronica at a booksigning. She'd had a strawberry daquri with a girlfriend at lunch then tottered over to the book store to buy a Business Taxes for Dummies book and she bumped into my table. It was love at first desperate need. I'd never -- uhm--- never you know -- been on a second date before, and she needed help taking her Salons from red to black. It morphed into something more. But, that's how it started. Everyone says we were using eachother for one reason or another, but that wasn't exactly true, and besides, even it was, so what? It just helped that she was pretty hot and the only girl who wasn't creeped out by me, who could look beyond some of my physical shortcomings and respect me for my expansive understanding of Gross Value. I guess, if I could do anything differnt with Ron, I wouldn't have called her that night. He said I could call so nobody would wonder where I was and he said not to call the cops, but I should've just said nah. And I would have told her I loved her.

And as for that last question... Oh yes, I definately believe in God. I was raised Southern Baptist, baby. There was a time when your's truly was a decent enough tenor in the choir. I still believe in Him, only now, I'm very much scared of Him.

Yes, I do have a tie rack, after all I wear a suit everyday (part of the uniform, you know). As far as why I wanted to be a shrink, it's because I wanted to help others, families especially. I have lived a very steady life and had a great up bringing, but I seen so many around me that grew up with so much stress. It seemed so unnecessary to me, so I trained to be a pshycologogist that specialized in helping families. And I'm damn good at it. I have had lots of success, only one client I had I would consider unreachable (he's a little too engrossed in his religion to deal with reality).

Thats part of why I don't just write Reagan off. If I do that, I've gotta spend the rest of my life in here by myself. I'll kill him before I die, but it'll be on my deathbed if I can help it. He's either gonna do whatever he did to get over here in the first place so I can say "Hey, look -- here's the guy" or he's going to suffer along with me.

The other reason why I don't, well, why I can't kill him off... you probably wouldn't get it, but when you write a story it may be make-believe, but you set up rules for your fantasy world and you have to obey those rules at all costs for the duration of that story. If you have a story about your girl who shot her sister, and you explain that she can read minds but never on Tuesdays or Thursdays after midnight from the very beginning, than 500,000 words later, you better not suddenly have her reading minds at 1 am on a Thursday. I know, it sounds like more of my crazy talk, but that's just the way it is. The only way I could bring Reagan's girl back for him was to obey the rules I've been laying down all along. So, there's that, I made Reagan and his girl pretty much immortal. I can't just up and kill him. Not as simple as that. The story won't allow it.

So, what's a nice head doctor like you doing in a Snapper story? Are you here with another inmate? That religious freak, he on this ward? I know there's the guy who thinks he's a preist for some god named Bud. Is that your client? And if you deal primarily with families, does that mean you have a family of your own? Do you talk to your kids with understanding sock puppets? Okay, I've always wondered this, so you have to induldge, were you allowed to use crayon on your exit exams? Sheila - my doctor here - she's always telling me that I made Reagan up. Well, doc, explain to me how my imaginary friend is any different than your profession. After all, you make your living offa things that are all in everyone else's heads. You survive by seeing things that don't phsyically exist - mental conditions.