The Last Victim_ A True-Life Journey Into the Mind of the Serial Killer - Jason Moss [79]
Gacy seemed thoroughly pleased with the way things were turning out. Not only were we out of view, and the guards out of range, but there was nobody else in the waiting area. The reality was that I was alone in a locked, un-monitored room with a psychopath who’d raped, tortured, and strangled many boys just like me.
Making my situation even more frightening were Gacy’s mutterings. “This is perfect!” he’d say, or “I can’t believe this!” I said a silent thank-you for the cuffs he was wearing, albeit loosely. Without them, he’d surely be rubbing his hands together like some mad scientist about to throw the switch on a fiendish experiment.
The more nervous I felt, the more Gacy seemed at ease. We chatted for a while about the most ordinary things, which I thought was just bizarre. Here I was, an eighteen-year-old kid, talking with a convicted murderer about hotels being built in Las Vegas, the most recent sporting events, and what the drive was like from the airport. He seemed especially interested in how I’d gotten along with Ken, and the comfort level of the motel I was staying at. I knew he was fishing for details about whether Ken and I had become “best buddies.”
After an hour or so, I’d forgotten that I was with John Wayne Gacy, the famed Clown Killer. Against my will, I began to trust this man sitting across from me, even appreciate his charm and wit.
Calming me further was the structure Gacy imposed on our interactions. In a bid to impress me, he showed me a couple of letters sent him by different news outlets, including Inside Edition, asking him for interviews. The unstated message was: Look how privileged you are to have “quality time” with me. In fact, he’d set aside three days for us to be together, although I had no idea what we’d do with all those hours.
After showing me the letters, he got up out of his chair and looked around the corner, presumably to see where the guard was. When he did this, I acted like I hadn’t noticed. I just continued to stare at the words on the page, wondering what the hell was going to happen next. I didn’t know whether to lead or follow, but figured that since the role I was playing was that of a passive, potential victim, I’d act as helpless as I could.
Believe me, it wasn’t difficult.
36
Jekyll and Hyde
As I continued to dawdle over Gacy’s fan letters, pretending to study them intently, I couldn’t help noticing that he was staring at me. Eerily, he wasn’t watching my reactions to what I was reading. Rather, he was looking at me the way a predator sizes up his soon-to-be prey, as if to decide which part to rip into first.
Over the last few months, he’d been trying systematically to break me down, weaken me, bring me under his complete control. I sensed that was exactly what was going on now, a hunch that was confirmed when he glanced around the corner one more time and then proceeded to lash into me about how weak and helpless I seemed. I was startled as much by the abrupt shift in his tone—from friendly to angry—as I was by his words.
He sat up straight in his chair, chest fully inflated, and stared intently into my face for the first time. Looking into his eyes, I experienced the most intense, powerful feeling of emptiness I’d ever felt. There was no warmth, no humanness there. Rather, it was as if I was staring at something feral. It occurred to me at that moment that Gacy’s mask had finally come down. Now I was seeing the part of him that he reserved only for those who’d never live to describe it.
“You’re here with me now, Jason. I brought you here. You’ll do whatever I say. You know that, right? Are we clear about that?”
I couldn’t stop myself from nodding. “Sure, John,” I said, gazing at the floor in a subservient manner.