The Last Victim_ A True-Life Journey Into the Mind of the Serial Killer - Jason Moss [77]
Leon left me in another waiting room, until he could go around to the other side and open the gate to Death Row. If I felt self-conscious before, now I felt utterly transparent. Down the corridor, handheld mirrors poked through cell bars and tilted to capture an image of me.
After what seemed like an eternity, Leon finally let me through the gate, where I was asked to sign in one more time. As I gripped the pen, I noticed my hand was shaking.
As I entered the long corridor, I was nearly sick with apprehension. My heart was thumping so hard in my chest I couldn’t catch my breath. I steadied myself, trying to keep my balance. In less than a minute I was going to meet John Wayne Gacy, and suddenly the irony dawned on me. Despite exchanging hundreds of letters with him, despite speaking with him on the phone several times a week, I realized I didn’t really know him. Until a person visited this place and saw what Gacy had been forced to put up with every day for fifteen years, they couldn’t really know who he was—or what he might be capable of.
I was about to find out.
I gathered myself together, took a shallow breath, the best I could manage at the time, and forced myself to look straight ahead toward the barred door and the person who was waiting beyond it.
Gacy stood quietly and patiently as I approached. I noticed with alarm that his only restraint was a pair of loose handcuffs, fitted on him by a guard who stood by. When I drew even with the door, the guard opened it for me, and I stepped inside. He then stepped through to where I’d been, locked the door, and began to walk away.
“Ah, excuse me,” I said, close to panic. Surely he wasn’t just going to leave me here alone! “Excuse me! Guard!”
The guard turned around to look at me through the bars. I could make out a thin smile.
“I was just wondering where you were going,” I said. This was nothing like I’d been led to expect.
He just looked at me, shook his head, and continued to walk away.
“Guard,” I yelled to his back, “where will you be if I need you?”
Maybe he didn’t hear me, I thought as I watched him round the corner. I couldn’t believe I was being left alone with a man who’d killed thirty-three boys my age!
Just as I thought about calling out one more time, I noticed Gacy watching me with an amused smile. God, this was humiliating.
I was utterly speechless. I couldn’t have yelled for help even if I’d wanted to. My heart was now hammering so hard my chest ached. I could feel little droplets of sweat running down my back.
At that moment, as terrified as I felt, incredibly, I also experienced a certain thrill. I’d done it! I’d come face-to-face with a genuine monster! Believing this meeting was the end product of my careful planning, not Gacy’s, I told myself I was still in control. Some of my confidence came back.
I can do this, I thought. I can do this.
35
Face-to-Face
I was utterly alone in the visiting area, except for Gacy standing motionless in front of me, eerily still. Looking at the guy, you’d hardly think he was capable of such brutal violence. He appeared to be a short, fat, aging, jolly fellow— sort of like the slightly weird uncle you tolerate because he means well. He stood about five feet, eight inches tall and was extremely overweight. His face was chubby, with skin so pale and soft it appeared translucent. His hair was carefully combed and styled with some sort of thick oil. He seemed ordinary in every sense—a harmless man who wouldn’t hurt a fly.
Without saying a word, he extended his handcuffed wrists to shake my hand. God, I’m about to touch him! As repulsed as I was, I also felt exhilarated. I put out my sweaty hand to greet his.
Rather than look directly at my face, he smiled as he held my hand and looked down at my crotch. That small gesture was enough for me to consider