The Last Victim_ A True-Life Journey Into the Mind of the Serial Killer - Jason Moss [61]
I tried to run away but I was frozen to the spot, unable to move, to speak, to act, to do anything but play the helpless spectator. I could do nothing to save this little girl. I was too afraid and powerless to help.
The next thing I knew, Ramirez was pointing a gun at my head. He repeatedly screamed, “You are not one of us! You are not one of us! You are going to die!”
Two or three nights a week, for a period of months, I would awaken from this dream, drenched in sweat. I was completely disoriented, unable to sort out what was real, whether any of this had really happened. Sometimes it was Ramirez who would see through me; at other times Gacy, Manson, or Dahmer. In every case, I would suffer terribly for my betrayal.
Some nights, I can remember the sound of Gacy’s voice, calling out to me from a long prison corridor. “Jaaaason . . . Jaaaason.” It would continue: “I see you. I am watching you. Come to me . . . ha ha ha. Don’t worry, boy, I will just come to you . . .”
I remember almost being able to make out the face of the figure who stood at the end of the hall. Hearing the echoes of my name, and the creepy sound of babies crying in the background, I’d soon awaken and not sleep again for the rest of the night.
26
Grooming a Killer
If there was no respite during the night, the days were far worse. Gacy was pushing me for more and more attention, making more bizarre demands. Ramirez, as well, was hungry to meet me and kept asking for my phone number. I was able to put him off by telling him I didn’t have a phone.
Meanwhile, my family and friends noticed the strain I was under. At times I appeared vacant and distracted; more disturbing were my overreactions to things that seemed quite ordinary to others.
One evening I was sitting in a movie theater with Jarrod, waiting for the film to begin. It’s common in Las Vegas theaters to scan the audience, since there are frequent sightings of our more famous citizens such as Andre Agassi, Mike Tyson, or Wayne Newton. As I was making my usual survey, I noticed one strange-looking man sitting by himself. He caught my attention because there was a black bag placed protectively between his legs under the seat. I also noticed that he was looking carefully around the theater, which seemed suspicious to me even though I was doing the same thing.
“Jarrod,” I whispered, “look at that guy over there.” I nodded my head in the man’s direction.
My brother briefly glanced over his shoulder, then resumed eating his popcorn.
“Jarrod!” I said more urgently. “Look, he’s checking everyone out who walks into the theater.”
“So what?” he mumbled with his mouth full, rooting around in the box for another handful of popcorn. “What’s the big deal?”
“Look at the bag he’s got on the floor. I swear, there’s something real weird about him. I bet he’s got a gun in that bag. Maybe more than one. What if he plans on opening fire on everyone in the theater?”
My brother just shook his head with disgust. “Jason, just chill out. Come on. The movie’s about to start.”
“Listen to me,” I pleaded. “You know that I’ve been reading a lot about mass murderers and serial killers and I’m telling you this guy has the look. These guys have some type of anger towards society. They just snap one day. They want to take out as many people as they can before they kill themselves.”
Now Jarrod was angry. I know I was scaring him. “Jason, he’s a dork. He’s not going to hurt anyone. He’s just—”
The lights dimmed and the previews came on.
The longer I sat there, the more uneasy I felt. I could just sense that something wasn’t quite right with this man. I had to do something.
“Jarrod, come on!” I demanded.
“What?” he said, really irritated with me now.
“Come on. We’re leaving. I’m not taking a chance that we could be hurt by some wacko. There are so many of these guys around. They could be anywhere.”
I knew I wasn’t making much sense. A part of me realized I was probably overreacting.