The Last Victim Read Online Free PDF

always ready to laugh and play. Naturally, there was some tension between us, given our different personalities
     and values, but we were both grateful for the ways we brought out the best in each other.
    Jenn came from a strict Cuban family, devoutly Catholic. Religious paraphernalia could be found all over the walls of their
     home. Though it didn’t occur to me at the time, because of their religious outlook, Jenn and her mother, Teresa, were probably
     not the most receptive audience for my “exciting idea.”
    • • •
    “You’re going to write who?” they both asked, incredulous.
    I explained a little about what I’d been up to, the books I’d bought, how I’d gotten the idea to try to persuade a number
     of serial killers to correspond with me by pretending to be someone they’d find appealing. Then I explained how I settled
     on Gacy as my first target.
    “Dios mío!”
Teresa blurted out. “Who in their right mind would do such a thing as try to make friends with a killer?”
    She then turned to Jenn and began talking rapidly in Spanish. All I could make out were the words “
Tu novio está loco.”
    Before I could say anything, Teresa was in my face again: “Don’t let my husband find out or he’ll throw you right out of this
     house.”
    I was Jenn’s first boyfriend, and although her parents tried to accept me, they found me a bit weird, even for an Anglo. They
     didn’t like the idea that I was a fan of horror movies, or that I’d once written a paper on witchcraft. Jenn was on the defensive
     most of the time, and I loved her for sticking up for me.
    “Enough, Mama!” Jenn put in. “Daddy isn’t going to throw Jason out.” She then turned to me. “But seriously, how come you never
     mentioned this idea to me before?” She seemed to be more upset that I might have been hiding something from her, rather than
     by what I was proposing to do.
    “I’ve just been thinking about it for a few days. You know how much I’m into this stuff,” I said, shrugging. It was a point
     of tension in our relationship that I liked going to horror movies and she didn’t.
    Jenn cringed. It was obvious I’d embarrassed her in front of her mother. She was almost pleading when she said, “Why can’t
     I have a normal boyfriend?”
    Teresa nodded her head and crossed herself. “Do your parents know about this? Your parents would never go for this. Chica,
     look, he’s smiling!
Es una broma.
Why do you play around for?”
    “I’m not joking. Someone needs to study and find out about these people. I—”
    “What makes you think you can talk to these people?” Teresa interrupted. “You’re asking for trouble.”
    I decided to shut up before things
really
got heated. This discussion hadn’t gone the way I’d expected it to.
    As Teresa fled upstairs muttering to herself, I looked at Jenn, hoping for support.
    “Jason,” she said, sighing, “you’re not normal. Sometimes the things you say to me, the ideas you have—they’re just so . .
     . I don’t know . . . strange. Someday I’m going to be on a talk show titled ‘My Boyfriend Writes to Serial Killers.’”
    She said that with a smile, so I figured we’d be okay.

5
Research
    I t was pretty clear to me at this point that I couldn’t talk frankly to anyone about what I was doing. When I looked at myself
     through the eyes of my family or friends, I really
did
seem strange. Wherever I was going, I was going alone.
    Rather than fear the prospect of single-handedly taking on someone like Gacy, though, I felt a measure of pride that I was
     willing to attempt something nobody else would. Naively, I believed I could outthink and outmanipulate Gacy and the other
     predators I intended to write. In my fantasies, they became
my
victims as I accessed all the valuable things they were keeping from law enforcement and mental health experts.
    Though at the time I lacked the self-awareness to see it, I was definitely suffering from delusions of