The Last Victim_ A True-Life Journey Into the Mind of the Serial Killer - Jason Moss [18]
But it wasn’t enough to just work hard, I had to stand out! As the years flew by, the pattern became fixed: I craved attention—especially when it derived from overcoming some obstacle—but once I’d achieved my desired goal, the lack of challenge led me to a new project.
For example, I was always good at baseball. As an eleven-year-old third baseman, I was considered one of the most promising athletes in the city, invited to play in leagues with much older boys. One year later, to the surprise of my family and friends, I abruptly quit. I told people that I just didn’t feel like it was enough of a challenge any longer.
Looking back, the real reason I quit was that I was afraid of being second best. There were other boys who were bigger, stronger, and faster than I was. Before long, they’d be able to perform better than I could, no matter how hard I worked. I just couldn’t stand the thought of that. I’d rather not play at all than face the prospect that I wasn’t the absolute best.
The following year I took up the trumpet, eventually ascending to second chair in the school band. The music teacher felt that I had great potential as a musician, but I soon lost interest in the instrument. I just couldn’t see myself in a high school marching band. I intended to be the star football player.
Along with these athletic pursuits, I also had a number of hobbies, especially collecting things. When most boys my age were collecting baseball cards, I became a dealer. I got a job in a card store just so I could have a first look at anything new that came in. On occasion, I would also accost younger kids on the street to try to buy their collections.
Before that, it was a huge coin collection. I taped coins to every spare sheet of paper in the house. I attended coin shows, wrote to family members all over the country recruiting their assistance to search for particular pennies I especially coveted. I visited the mint in Philadelphia to get more rare and unique coins. And just like everything else I did, once I felt I’d met the challenge, I moved on to something else.
When I was fifteen, I took up weight lifting with a vengeance. I became completely obsessed with bulking up my body. I worked out two, even three times a day, to the point where I was huge—over 200 pounds at five feet, eight inches tall. I reached a point where I was eating dozens of vitamin supplements, taking weight-gainer fuel, as well as eating half a loaf of bread for breakfast each day.
Eventually, this, too, became boring, so I moved on to kickboxing. Again, I became totally focused on being the absolute best. I went to school, then to the gym, then to kickboxing, and finally fell into bed exhausted each night. This used to drive my parents nuts.
“Jason,” my mother would vent, “is there some reason why we have to live with that pole thing in the yard?”
That “pole thing” was a gigantic stake I’d sunk into the ground to use for toughening up my feet and legs for tournaments. I’d kick it for hours at a time.
“Come on, Mom, you know I need it to get myself ready.”
“I just don’t know what to do with you. You use those bottles to rub your shins till they’re raw. You—”
“I told you a hundred times. I have to deaden the nerve endings on my legs—”
“Don’t use that tone of voice with us!” my father would object.
“Look, Jason,” my mother would warn, “we’ve had just about enough of this stuff!” and the lecture would continue.
As a little boy, I continuously lived with fears of being abandoned, as well