In the dream, I'm working at a used bookstore and a man comes in, says something cryptic to me, and starts shooting customers. I am unharmed.
Later, I'm at my mother's hospital bed. (She's not currently in hospital in reality, note). She can speak (no signs of the aphasia she actually has) and I'm discussing the crime with her, and how paranoid its made me. I hand her a piece of paper the shooter gave me. It is a dark piece of construction paper - maybe brown? - with a colourful mandala of circles within circles painted on it. It has my name written on it. She is disturbed that the killer knew my name - it means it wasn't a random crime.
I need to take a crap, so I sit on the toilet that is right beside her bed. I mean, she's smelled my pooh before, right? I'm crapping, when some member of the hospital cleaning staff comes onto her balcony; he's sweeping. He continues to sweep his way into the room. I fold myself in half, my belly on my thighs, as I shit, so as to hide my genitalia.
Then it occurs to me: maybe the killer licked the paintbrush when he was writing my name and there will be traces of his saliva in the paint? I phone the detective in charge of the case to give him the tip, but end up long distance with a female who I do not know, who takes my information. She is sitting in a car. The "camera" tracks back to her partner, standing outside the car: it appears to be the killer! Dramatic music swells.
There was something else about my wandering around the streets at the scene of the crime, trying to figure out what happened, but I don't remember that part.