Dear Saint Gabriel:
This may be a tall order but I need to get a message to my wife. I’m writing to you because you’re the patron saint of communication in charge of messages etc.
I’m in the communications business myself, so from one communications guy to another maybe you could get my message to the head of the queue, because I guess you get a lot of requests like this — unless you don’t get any because you don’t exist.
Anyway, I’d be most grateful if you could get in touch with my wife, gone now twenty-one months, and ask her to contact me. I’m thinking along the lines of cerebral communication, spiritual communion, a flash of enlightenment in my mind or a feeling in my heart, a sensation, however fleeting and ethereal and ephemeral, even imaginary, something that would give me even the briefest indication or hope that she is somewhere out there with you guys and not in oblivion.
Tell her that life is hell without her and I’m getting to the point where it won’t be worth it. The merest hint, however, that she is Somewhere and not Nowhere would keep me going.
A while back I asked the Silver Surfer to try and find her or get a message to her but even traveling 500,000 light years in seconds and visiting billions of galaxies he came up empty — hard to believe, I know.
But I reckon you have an inside track that even the Silver Surfer doesn’t know about. So I’m asking for your help, which, at the risk of sounding overly dramatic, is increasingly becoming a matter of life and death.
Yours sincerely,
Billy Pickle
