And now, we're outside the Androscoggin County, ME, correctional facility, done in a charming Federalist style with limestone facades and a copper cupola worn to a fine patina. It is the most lovely penal facility I have ever seen. The inside, however, has the tell-tale penal décor --lots of bars, not a lot of wall-to-wall carpet, muzak or something like it. And by "something like it," I mean "high-pitched voices ululating nonsense syllables so they sound foreboding without distracting you with actual lyrics." I wonder if that gets on the inmates' nerves.
The camera follows a trusty down one hall that's worse lit (and therefore more foreboding) than the others, and we see Rolf lying on his bunk, reading a pamphlet titled "Hell is a Barroom." Yeah -- and it's populated with Irishmen. The trusty delivers the mail, and as he opens the slot, the background singers kick it up a notch. I can't believe the ACLU hasn't brought suit on that yet -- surely hearing that constantly constitutes cruel and unusual punishment. The shirtless Rolf walks over to pick up his mail. I suppose the shirt is off to convey the following information: Rolf has something tattooed on his right pectoral; Rolf has a dark dragon tattooed down the left side of his neck; Rolf apparently forswore carbs and did a lot of crunches before his killing spree. Well, it figures. Slaughtering entire groups of people probably requires some sort of cardio endurance, at least. Rolf looks around to make sure nobody watches him get his mail, and then reads the first letter. "Rot in hell, counselor," he responds. Rolf is clearly not grasping the concept of voice mail.
And now it's raining. This shouldn't be a problem for the giant car parked by a pier somewhere, as it is a certifiable land yacht. Unfortunately, the person in the car is listening to WOOO, the radio station that provides the inarticulate creepy soundtrack for your workday. We get a long shot of the car, which fails to be either ominous or illuminating. This show sure is fond of throwing in shots that tell you a whole lot of nothing.
Back in the cell, Rolf is standing up and checking outside the window again lest anyone catch him in the act of reading. The perspective switches to the bottle blonde in the car, who's whispering part of the Hail Mary before pulling out a sheet of either stamps or stickers. We switch back to Rolf in his cell, unfolding a heart-festooned sheet of paper and reading, "Dear Rolf -- I'm waiting for you, honey. I'll be there for you every single day, and even though I know you don't believe it, your lord and savior will be there too, waiting for you every day as well. I know you didn't do nothing wrong. And if you did? Well, it was for us."