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As I listened to the mingled sounds of droning engines and snoring passengers, I seethed. I was furious at Gacy for manipulating me in such a way that I felt bruised, dirty, and vulnerable. I also flagellated myself for not having anticipated Gacy’s moves and counteracting them more effectively.

Yes, I’d butted heads with a serial killer and lived to tell about it. I’d climbed into the wolf’s cage. But I certainly hadn’t tamed him. I may have learned firsthand what it feels like to be so terrified you’re frozen in place, but I was going to pay a price. My body may not have been buried beneath Gacy’s house, but part of my soul would rest in his trophy case. I was his last victim.

As much as I was hurting, as confused as I felt, the worst part was being so alone. I knew there was nobody I could confide in at home about what had really happened. I’d put up a brave front to my parents, minimize the danger I confronted. In fact, I’d tell them very little. And some of what had gone down—well, it was too embarrassing to tell even Jarrod. Gacy’s reducing me to tears, for example.

Jarrod had always thought of me as his “cool as a cucumber” older brother—the guy who had everything wired. I needed him to keep believing that. Sometimes it seemed like he was the only member of my fan club.

When I saw my father waiting for me as I exited the plane, I wanted to break into tears and run into his arms. I just wanted him to hold me. But I knew that if I told him what had really happened, the long leash I’d grown accustomed to would be shortened considerably. That would be the end of finding a receptive audience for my next “exciting idea.”

“Hi,” my father said with a big smile. “How did it go?”

I shrugged. “It was fine. Not what I expected, though.”

There it was. The opening. If my father wanted to pick up on that, if he’d decided to press, I probably would have told him. I was that wrung out.

But he didn’t.

“So,” he said as we made our way past the slot machines to the baggage area, “how was the flight?”

“Fine, Dad.” I was both disappointed and relieved that things would remain private. It was clear to me he didn’t really want to know what had happened. In a sense, he was asking for the sanitized version.

He abruptly changed the subject. “Your brother has been difficult to handle lately. Any idea what’s been going on with him?”

What is this? I wondered. Is he blaming me for Jarrod’s problems? I didn’t think so. But it made sense that the things I’d been doing were affecting everyone in the household.

The drive home was very quiet and uncharacteristically awkward. I wondered if my father was mad at me but I was afraid to ask. We both were very standoffish, reluctant to get into anything too heavy. Still, I’d missed him terribly and it felt great to be home again. I was even looking forward to returning to school.

I slept most of that day while my parents worked and my brother attended school. I actually barricaded myself in my room, trying to put enough of myself back together to face the world. I brooded about this whole serial killer project I’d embarked on. Despite everything, I still found these individuals fascinating. But Gacy—there was no way I could deal with him anymore.

Poor Koko. Now, there was someone I might write. With the bond I’d already established, I figured I could get him to really open up.

Wait a minute! In thinking about him, I realized that what I was engaged in was a form of “self-esteem damage control.” It fit a pattern I’d repeated my entire life: experience a setback in one area; make up for it by pushing forward in another area. That way, you avoid failure.

It hadn’t occurred to me yet that my visit to Gacy had been a success of a certain kind. In fact, by using myself to bait the hook, I’d learned much more about how a predator like him functions than if I’d just sat across from him the whole time and peppered him with questions.

I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, my hands rested on my stomach, fingers intertwined. On an impulse, I moved my right hand to my heart to feel the blood pumping