Dear John,

Thanks for writing back. Crazy stuff. Especially about the guy selling his hair. What you’d even do with a serial killer’s hair once you got it is a pretty creepy prospect. I did what you said – I looked online and toured through the ‘murderabilia’ sites. A lot of Charles Manson stuff is going for a mint because he’s dead. The guy sure did a lot of crappy artwork. Gacy, too. You were right, there are a couple of your letters going for upwards of $500. The seller says ‘strong suspicions of clues to hidden cash’ for each. Everybody’s got to have their side hustle, I guess. I might sell the letters. I could use the money.

At first when I read what you wrote about how having a terrible childhood and being abandoned had an effect on your decision to kill, I thought – that’s bullshit. There was a seven-year-old kid in that bank. I put the letter down and walked away. But I guess now I’m thinking more about it. I haven’t come to a decision, but I’m thinking. It’s because who I am as a person is so tied up in where I’ve come from, what Sneak did to me. I don’t want to get too heavy with you, but from the moment you learn you were abandoned there’s a kind of break inside you. Like you become disconnected from everyone else, everyone who grew up loved and wanted. Everyone who wasn’t a mistake, an accident, something that was not meant to be. Sometimes I wonder if I’m a black hole. A vacuum in space. I’m the plus-one, on the waiting list for my shot at belonging in the world. Maybe that’s why I never feel satisfied or settled.

If I wasn’t meant to be here, then a weird twist of fate happened when I was born, you know what I mean? A rule was broken. And so why in the hell do I spend so much time and effort and heartache trying to be something or someone when I’m no one and nothing? I don’t feel like I count. Don’t get me wrong – I had great foster parents. They had a child who died so they kind of felt like they’d replace their minus-one with a plus-one; me, the figure outside the equation. The extra. Once I got past childhood I think they kind of forgot that there was supposed to be other stuff. Adult to adult parent–child relationships. Sometimes I don’t hear from them for nine months, maybe longer. It’s like I served my purpose for them and now they’re just bored.

I don’t think that translates into an excuse for panicking during a bank heist and killing a bunch of people. But for me maybe it translates into an interest in the same kind of ‘break free’ mentality. Separation from the real world, from everyone else. Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I just took off. Packed a backpack and just went away. Anywhere. Nowhere. I could leave behind everything that is Dayly Lawlor and find a space in life where I’m not the outlying piece of the jigsaw puzzle. I could find or build a whole new puzzle where I fit.

But all that requires stuff I haven’t got. Courage. Worldliness. Money. A car. A fucking backpack, ha ha. I think I would want to understand where I came from properly before I went. All of the different pieces and elements. Because for me there’d be no coming back.

Sorry, all of that got really heavy, when I said at the outset that I wouldn’t let it. I suppose I’ll just send this letter anyway and see what you think.

Chat soon,
Dayly

P.S. Sounds in your last letter like you’re trying to hook me into the whole mystery about there being more money out there somewhere, but I’m not buying it. Yes, I’ve looked at all the articles and conspiracy theories online. Been to all the subreddits about it. Plenty of experts agree, there is more money missing from the robberies that were attributed to you than was ever found or spent. But I also know how many marriage proposals guys on death row get. Surely you’ve found someone to give the money to, over the years, if there ever was any.