forest nightingale

"That's it for me," I said. "I have nothing else, what about you?"

Murphy shook his head no, and picked up his notepad. "I'm pretty sure that's it, but I'll go check with the captain." He got up and left the room.

Dahmer looked over at me in panic. "What does he mean, that's it? Are you saying we're done?"

I explained. "Well, yeah, Jeff, now that all the victims are identified, unless there is something else of importance you want to discuss, we're finished."

A look of fear came over him. "Does this mean I won't see you anymore?"

I searched his face as he spoke. He didn't look like a murderer at all; just a scared, confused and lonely guy, trying to make a connection.

"Oh sure, Jeff, in a few months the trial will begin and I'll see you then."

He continued in a tone that betrayed his anxiety. "Well, what's going to happen to me?"

I explained that he still had to work with his lawyers to prepare his defense. "I'm sure they will take good care of you."

Dahmer shook his head slowly. "I know, Pat, but I was getting used to our little talks, and I enjoy being with you."

Murphy interrupted the moment by opening the door. "I already called the jail and told them to hold his lunch. Come on, Jeff, we'll take you back over."

In Wisconsin, prostitutes were catcalling him, and he was looking straight ahead...

Jeff blamed himself for his mother's illness. He had known for as long as he could remember that she had been depressed following his birth, and that he had therefore caused the illness. He also must have caused every relapse. He could not articulate his pain, for fear of tipping his mother over the edge again. He had to keep himself to himself, say little and do less, to protect her, to keep a little calm in the house. The more she saw of him the worse it would be for her.

His brother David said, '[Jeff] never learned to be open with his feelings of frustration... he went out to the forest by himself and cut down trees for firewood.' They could hear him slamming against tree trunks from inside the house. It sounded like vented anger, but it was more likely the solace of utter isolation.

He had left his jacket in his apartment and had brought his smokes with him. He put them on the table next to where I had put his glass of beer. He was very impressed when he saw our cat walk out of the bedroom picking her up and saying he liked cats a lot.

He wanted to know how long we had her because pets weren't allowed in the building. I told him that she was a part of the family and Pam would have my head on a platter about her cat, he laughed. We weren't the only people in the building who owned a cat. Pam came in shortly after we had arrived not even having time to finish our first glass of beer.

The three of us sat in our living room for nearly an hour chopping it up about the neighborhood, the apartments, our children that Pam and myself had and our jobs. He worked at a chocolate factory and offered to bring Pam a box of chocolates one day. Of all the guests we've had in our apartment he appeared to be no different doing or saying nothing unusual. With the upcoming holiday being Thanksgiving, we invited him over for dinner if he found himself alone on that day. He agreed thanked us for the beer and left. Jeff didn't come to have dinner with us because his parents came to spend that day with him.