Serial Killer's Soul (12 page)

He received both drugs four times a day.

Right after supper, the clamor started again. “Did you eat all the meat on your tray, you animal?” They continued calling him a racist and making other derogatory remarks that crossed their minds.

I don’t know why, but I had enough. “Hey, that man has already been given his time,” I told the outspoken inmates. “He’s being punished for what he did. He got caught for all his wrong-doing and now he’s doing time for the rest of his life. So let the man rest. He’s entitled to that. He’s entitled to be left alone.”

Even Dahmer didn’t deserve the onslaught of abuse. As a Christian, I believed that even though this man did horrible things he was still just a sinner, just like the rest of us. In God’s eyes, we are all His children, and wishing pain and hurt upon someone else makes us no better. For that matter, who were we to judge him?

I actually felt sorry for Dahmer. Of course, I didn’t agree with what he did, but he was obviously troubled. Dahmer walked into the lion’s den but I decided I wasn’t going to let him go alone.

Someone hollered to me from down the line. “Brother, I don’t know why you’re taking up for that racist! He killed all those Brothers. Dahmer don’t give a fuck about you, just like he didn’t care about those he tricked into going to his apartment and then killed. And then what he did to them afterwards! Man, I don’t get how you can stick up for him!”

They all started in again, using profanity to try to get Dahmer to talk, but again he wouldn’t utter a word. Finally, an officer barked to quiet down.

The inmates’ comments bothered me; I wondered if they bothered Jeff as well.

I admit I was curious about him. Not just his history, but I wondered what he was doing or thinking. Was he feeling bad, scared, or hateful? Was he wishing he could take it all back and start over? Did he know about God or Satan? What compelled him to cut people up?

Questions kept popping into my head.

It was strange to think that Jeffrey Dahmer, one of the most notorious serial killers of all time, was right on the other side of my cell wall … just inches away. I was within speaking distance to a man that most considered a monster.

Then it hit me. I started to believe that Dahmer was next to me for a reason. Perhaps this was the work of the Lord. The questions I left in his hands seemed to be answered. I began to think I was
supposed
to talk to him, get to know him, and help him get to know God.

Later that evening, an officer asked if we wanted to take showers and clean our cells. He started at Cell 1. Even though the shower was across from
Dahmer’s cell, which meant Jeff wouldn’t have to walk in front of anyone else, Dahmer didn’t want to take a shower, nor did he want to clean his cell.

I was next in line for the shower. Only one inmate could shower at a time. When I came out and walked past his cell, I looked in the glass window and saw him sitting on his stool, reading letters.

As I passed, I hit his door, which was my way of saying “hello.” He responded with a nonchalant, “Hey.” I was glad he was willing to be friendly at least.

Then the full scope of events hit me. This whole mess of being in solitary confinement for a crime I did not commit, winding up in the only cell next to Jeffrey Dahmer … every step that I took to get to this very point and the steps that I was pushed to by no fault of my own were God’s plan. God knew I was a new Christian and Jeff was a lost soul. God brought us together to learn about Christianity
together
. I had a perfect opportunity to talk to Dahmer and I could help open his eyes to the blessed light and limitless forgiveness. I didn’t know how I was going to start or even what I was going to say, but somehow I knew I had to help him.

After my shower, other inmates passed Dahmer’s cell. They’d stand in front of his door and stare at him, as if he was a caged animal on display. The stainless-steel shower walls across from Dahmer’s cell were as shiny as a mirror. I could look out the window of my door and see everyone coming and going.

Around 8 p.m., the officer on duty brought requested items from the unit supply, along with more mail.

At 9 p.m., we had standing count. I read more about Dahmer in a few newspapers and magazines, stories that told in gruesome detail what he’d done to those whose lives he stole. I was so curious to know
why
… why he did it and why he did it the
way
he did it. I finally decided to try to talk to Jeff. I knew I would have to do so quietly, it was already after 9 p.m. and we weren’t supposed to talk.

Inmates who were allowed could watch TV or listen to their radios as late as they want, but all electronics required headphones so the unit was completely quiet after 9 p.m. This, also, is an institutional rule. It would be noisy at night if
every inmate had their volume on and tuned in to a different TV channel or radio station.

It was my first night with Dahmer in the cell next to mine. He was in Cell 1, so there was no one on the other side of him–just the stairs that led to our tier. If
anyone
would be able to talk to him privately, it could only be the person in Cell 2… me.

A twelve-foot-long concrete block wall separated us, but there were vents in that wall near the ceiling. In the steel doors of our cells, there was a speaker with holes in it so sound could pass from the cell to the hallway. If anyone tried to talk through that, everyone would hear.

I sat on my bed and stared at the gray wall separating us, I looked up at the vents at the top of my cell. I knew those vents led directly into Dahmer’s cell. My eyes trailed down toward my metal sink attached to the wall. My curiosity overtook my fear. I was certain, if I stood on the sink, I could get close enough to the vents to talk to him quietly.

I wondered if he would talk back.

I took a deep breath and could feel my palms getting sweaty. I stood up, went over the sink, put both hands onto the sides, and hoisted myself up onto it. The pipes beneath the shiny metal creaked slightly under the new, unwanted addition of my weight. I steadied myself and leaned toward the wall. I listened for just a moment to see if I could hear anything.

Nothing but silence.

I had to remind myself that Dahmer was
just a man
, a sinner like all the rest of us–lost and looking for light. He was not something inhuman. I could do this. I could try to engage Jeffery Dahmer in a conversation.

I whispered into the vents near the ceiling that went into Dahmer’s cell.

“Hey, Jeff, mind if I ask you some questions?” I focused on keeping my voice even and friendly.

“I don’t care,” he replied flatly.

I was surprised he answered. He had been so resolutely quiet before, enduring gibes and questions and only uttering one response. I decided to start
with some general questions. “So, how are you doing over there?” I cringed at the awkwardness of the question, but we had to start somewhere.

“Been better,” he responded. I could tell he was upset but I was glad he was willing to talk.

I couldn’t talk to him about God right away; I figured I needed to build up some kind of rapport. Then, when he was comfortable and I knew what to expect from him, I could tell him about the goodness of God.

I had to ask the one specific thing that had haunted my mind since his arrest. “Jeff, why did you target minorities instead of your own race?”

Dahmer didn’t answer for a few moments. He must have smirked before he spoke because I could hear the sarcasm in his voice, “Why? Because they’re all ignorant, they should all die. I was cleaning the earth of those maggots and I believe I did my share. Also, if everyone killed as many as I did, there would be no more niggers, spicks, or gooks in America.”

His voice got louder, intentional, so everyone could hear him. “So do it, people, before it’s too late!”

I felt blood rush to my head and I felt my hands curl into a fist. Racism was one of the things that I loathed. I admit, at that moment I wanted to beat that murdering racist. I wondered if he knew that I was a black man but then I figured it probably wouldn’t have made his answer any different. Admittedly, his angry outburst surprised me; he had been so quiet before.

A few other inmates heard part of our discussion, especially Dahmer’s loud, racist statement, and started in again with profanities, threats, and shouting.

I took a deep breath, let my rage settle, calmed myself, and remembered that I am a Christian. I put my head down, rested my forehead against the cold cement wall, and closed my eyes. I started to pray for the man in Cell 1. I prayed that sometime soon he would accept God into his life and let go of the hate that still consumed him. I prayed I would be able to help him.

The noise from the other inmates escalated and two officers came up the stairs, yelling for us to pipe down. I quickly jumped off the sink. Everyone lowered their voices until the officers left before taunting Dahmer again.

Once again, he didn’t respond.

I listened. When quiet returned, I climbed back up on the sink. I had more that I wanted to know, and this time I had more courage.

“Why did you confess to the authorities everything about the killings?” I asked. “Why did you give them all the details of the rituals and the methods you used to carry out the murders?”

I heard him take a deep breath. “Because I find it extremely sexual to go over the crimes I committed, and I get off telling exactly how I took the worthless lives of those people,” he said. “Why shouldn’t I be proud and tell others? I only did what needed to be done and I told them of all seventeen because I’m proud of my attempt to rid the planet of that type of trash.”

I could hear anger in his voice. I whispered back, “Well, you were caught red-handed after Tracy Edwards broke away and told the police. You must have known you were going to get caught.” I regretted talking so loudly because other inmates started up again with more threats.

A pattern had developed. It was a pattern dictated by Dahmer. He’d decided, for some reason, to only talk to me that night if no one else was talking. He wasn’t about to respond to the loud, angry racket from the other inmates.

A few minutes later, when the quiet again returned, I asked another question weighing on my mind: “Why did you keep the skulls with the skin removed? And why did you
paint
them?”

“Each skull represented a life I took,” he said. “They’re proof, along with the photographs, that I did my part.

“Personally, I found the skulls somewhat erotic. I could sit and stare or fondle them for hours, fantasizing about killing more people. I really liked the skulls. Plus, I knew that if the police ever found a
real
skull in my possession, it would be confiscated. The paint was a form of disguise so they wouldn’t be taken.”

I wondered if Jeff realized how crazy he seemed or if he even remotely understood what he had done was wrong. Jeff always talked loud enough so a few of the inmates could hear what he was saying and, every time he talked, they’d start yelling and swearing and threatening his life.

I had spent a lot of time keeping up with the Dahmer case. There were so many questions flirting through my head, waiting to be asked. “Why did you keep the lungs, intestines, kidney, arm muscles, and hearts in your refrigerator and freezer?”

“It was food,” he said, “and it would have been eaten if I’d have had the time to do it. Also, I could take the parts out whenever I needed the rush I got from chopping them up. They were an asset, man.”

Hearing him speak, letting the impact of his words wash over me; it was hard to keep him “human” versus “monster” in my head. My insides lurched with every word he uttered. I told myself to keep it together, reminding myself over and over that this man needs Jesus in his life. There was so much hatred in him. I prayed for him again. I also prayed for me. I asked God to help me touch Jeff’s heart with His goodness and peace. Talking to him that evening showed me
exactly
how twisted and tortured Jeffrey Dahmer really was.

I sat down on my bed and thought back to September 1990 when I accepted Jesus as my Lord and Savior. I recalled Levy, the prisoner who had brought me to the Lord, and wondered if I had the strength and ability to guide another soul to Jesus as Levy had guided me. I remembered all the church services and Bible classes I’d attended. At that moment, I decided to talk to Jeff about God and his Son, about the faith that had changed my life and my heart.

I knew the best way to reach this man was to start with something he’d understand–Satan. I decided to share some Bible scriptures with him that showed the power the devil could have over us.

I opened my Bible to Isaiah and reread to myself the verses I’d read so many times before. I read the verses aloud to Jeff.

Your might and power are gone; they are buried with you. All the pleasant music in your palace has ceased; now maggots are your sheet, worms your blanket! How you are fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning! How you are cut down to the ground–mighty though you were against the nations of the world. For you said to yourself, ‘I will ascend to heaven and rule the angels. I will take the highest throne. I will preside on the Mount of Assembly far away
in the north. I will climb to the highest heavens and be like the Most High.’ But instead, you will be brought down to the pit of hell, down to its lowest depths. Everyone there will stare at you and ask, ‘Can this be the one who shook the earth and the kingdoms of the world?’ (Isaiah 14:11-16, TLB)

After reading those verses aloud, I felt better, like some of the evil in the cell had lifted. It gave me courage. I asked Jeff if he had his own Bible. He said his personal Bible was with the rest of his things. The only Bible he had was one the prison supplied.

I told him to read Ezekiel, which says:

Then this further message came to me from the Lord: ‘Son of dust, weep for the king of Tyre. Tell him, the Lord God says: You were the perfection of wisdom and beauty. You were in Eden, the garden of God; your clothing was bejeweled with every precious stone–ruby, topaz, diamond, chrysolite, onyx, jasper, sapphire, carbuncle, and emerald–all in beautiful settings of finest gold. They were given to you on the day you were created. I appointed you to be the anointed guardian cherub. You had access to the holy mountain of God. You walked among the stones of fire.