The Last Victim_ A True-Life Journey Into the Mind of the Serial Killer - Jason Moss [87]
“You mean about your case?”
“You know what I’m talking about!” he growled. He then brought my hand down to the level of his crotch. You have to remember that his hands were cuffed together, so if he had an itch or something while holding on to me, my arm would have to follow his down.
With his other hand, he began to undo his zipper and pull out his penis again, just like the day before. As he did this, he tightened the hold he had on my wrist. I could see his fingers turn white from the amount of pressure he was exerting. I struggled to pull my arm away, eventually breaking free. I was so relieved that I barely noticed he was starting to play with himself again.
“Do you see this cock?” he said to me in a hoarse whisper. “Do you see the big head on my cock? I’m going to shove this big head down your throat. You’re going to choke on this cock, Jason, until you beg me to stop.”
His face was now bright red. I could actually see his veins bulging through the skin. He was breathing hard, moaning gutturally as he stroked himself. Uh-oh, I thought. It was yesterday all over again.
This time, though, he was having trouble maintaining his erection, and to raise his sexual excitement, he stepped up the verbal brutality. “Jason,” he said, eyes riveted on my body, “last night I lay in my bed thinking about what I’m going to do to you today.”
I gulped. The confidence I’d felt earlier had just about drained off. “Uh, John, maybe we’d better—”
“I thought long and hard about how I’m going to rape you,” he interrupted. “It doesn’t matter whether you want it or not, you’re going to get it. After I’m done with you, you’re going to lie on the bloody floor so I can piss all over your face. Seeing your blood on the floor is going to make me very happy.” As he talked, he kept massaging himself, working himself into a full erection again.
During the previous night, I’d considered what I might do if he came on to me again, or threatened my life. I felt somewhat better prepared to fend him off, but I knew that a knock-down, drag-out fight or a sprint to the barred door to call out to the guards would effectively blow the whistle on this relationship I’d spent so long nurturing. There was even a chance that an altercation inside the prison would make the newspapers. Before I took the final step—a fight, or sprint, for my life—I wanted to make sure there were no options left.
“You’re just a piece of shit!” Gacy screamed. “You’re nothing. You’re worth nothing. I could easily take care of you just like the others.”
He said it! I thought to myself. He admitted he’d killed those other boys. Of course, a lot of good that admission was going to do if I didn’t get out of this cell soon.
As if through a haze, I heard him continuing to scream at me, “Take your clothes off so I can fuck you.”
“Couldn’t we just talk?” I pleaded. “You’re scaring me.”
“I said take your pants off. I want you to bend over the chair or I’ll make you.”
Okay, it was about time I let him know who I really was. I could feel my own internal strength return as I tensed to kick him in his fat stomach, or better yet, right in the crotch. The fat pervert needed to be taught a lesson!
As someone once said, though: 99 percent of life is timing. Weirdly—perhaps providentially—at precisely the point Gacy began reaching for me and I knew one of us would end up badly hurt, we both heard the sound of someone coming down the hall. It was the guards!
It was almost comical. Ken and his escorts were on their way and here Gacy was standing over me with his penis hanging out of his pants. Just as the gate opened, he sat down and zippered up his equipment. He was shaking and sweating profusely.
“We’re here,” Ken yelled out as he walked down the hallway, almost as if he knew he should give some warning.
The first person who strode into view was Andrew Kokoralies, Gacy’s friend and fellow killer on Death Row. Next came Ken with