Dear Baby, 18th of November 1977
I didn't get a chance to write to you again any sooner, I'm sorry. I can almost hear you wonder why on earth I couldn't find a free moment in my boring days spent in a cell alone with absolutely nothing to do, but you'd be surprised. Daniel shows up twice a day to take me upstairs so I can fresh up, use the toilet, etc. The meals I receive three times a day from the guards or "minions" from your father I consider room service, for in my imagination it has real taste. Of course in reality it's barely enough to feed the two of us. I'm sure that if it weren't doctor's order I'd be in here all day without the fresh up and meal-privileges. I would've been long dead, then. Besides that, I've found it rather amusing to start talking to the guard. There are 4 who change shifts every 8 hours; Bob, Joe, Tim and Nicholas. Tim is the most talkative one, I think the others are afraid that they will get fired or killed if someone catches them talking to the 'prisoner'. It must a boring, endlessness existence for them, standing guard in front of a cell for 8 hours, I wonder if they think holding on to this will get them higher up on the career ladder eventually. Daniel probably made them some beautiful promises, like he did to me once. Perhaps for these boys he will keep his word.
Joe is the least fun to talk to, so I've noticed. He told Daniel and his colleague Christina that I was annoying and had plans of escape with Nicholas, my alley according to him. Perhaps this was a little true, but I don't see why they had to overreact so severely. Nicholas got fired immediately, or killed, but I wish not to think of that possibility, and I spent the following month tied up and gagged in here, only to be freed during the scarce minutes in which Daniel brought me 'room service.' So that was another reason why I couldn't write you more often, it doesn't go well with ropes around your wrists.
So that's what I've been doing so far. Perhaps you wonder what your father is like now when he is with me. You'll hope he is feeling guilty, but I'm afraid I haven't noticed the slightest bit of guilt in his eyes. He seems rather pleased with himself, I imagine his boss has given him an impressive pay rise because he has set up such a smart plan. I don't really care, I only feel pity for the way his soul is so obviously rotten. Sometimes he tries to talk to me, especially the days he had to feed me because my hands were tied up. I wouldn't respond, though. I'm better than him, and I know it. I think if I didn't have the imagination and vivid fantasies I have always had I wouldn't be here anymore. I live in my dreams, I'm doing anything besides being a prisoner in a dark basement cell in my fantasies, and that's what keeps me going. If I didn't have such a creative mind I might have tried to kill myself already, one way or another. I might not have succeeded, because the guards are , unfortunately, good at what they do, but I would have tried, as an act of despair. Luckily I'm not like that. In my most recent day dream I was walking along the beach with you, my gorgeous baby girl. You're a girl in my dreams, and I'm sure you will be in reality too. My mother instincts just tell me that. Tomorrow Dr. Former, the gynaecologist will stop by again, perhaps he will confirm my suspicions. I hate Dr. Former, he's just like everyone else at Wolfram & Hart; sneaky and evil. His hands are ice cold when they examine me, and Daniel's always watching when I squirm and cry in pain and fear. He has never done anything to attempt to make me feel better the slightest bit. Not that he would have succeeded, but he could have tried. But then again, your father was never one to enrol in a lost case like comforting one who is already unable to feel better.
Your loving mother, Amy
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