Dahmer's Not Dead

Helen put Goodwin’s Falks County report away. “Let me be almost as profane as you, Mr. Goodwin. I don’t give a shit about any allegations you may have faced while serving as a paramedic for the Falks County Rescue Squad.”

Goodwin’s entire face seemed to open like a flower. “Then why the fuck am I here?”

“I’ll tell you that, just calm down, all right? I can’t tell you the details, Mr. Goodwin. I only want your professional opinion on succinicholine sulphate. It was stolen from your vehicle on the 29th of November, and it was stolen from your vehicle during the Falks County incident over two years ago.”

“Of course it was!” Goodwin railed. “I already told you, the whole thing was a set-up. I took the call alone because my partner was in the can taking a shit! I arrived at the loke and there was a kid lying in the street with blood all over him! I fucked up and left the keys in the truck because I was rushing to help the kid! The kid gets up and runs away—it’s catsup he’s got all over him. Then I go back to the truck, but some player’s already in it driving away! The succinicholine sulphate wasn’t in the Falks County safe because nothing else was either! They took everything, like they usually do. An ambulance jacker isn’t gonna take time picking through each and every pharmaceutical! He takes everything at once and sorts it out later, because he knows in two minutes every cop car in town is gonna be looking for him!”

“Calm down, Mr. Goodwin. Please. Just calm down.” Helen gave him some air, let him sit a minute. “The only reason I had my men bring you down here is to answer one question.”

“Okay,” Goodwin responded hotly. “What’s the goddamn fuckin’ question?”

“Why would anyone specifically want to steal the drug known as succinicholine sulphate?”

Goodwin rubbed his face in his hands, seemed to try to wring out his stress. “Succinicholine sulphate is only good for one thing. It’s a paralytic agent. We use it in emergencies to stop convulsions and Grand Mal seizures. The only thing it’s good for is paralyzing people.”

“But why would someone want to paralyze someone else?”

Goodwin jumped to his feet, his fists clenched. Then his entire face jumped forward when he shouted, “How the fuck would I know, goddamn it!”

««—»»

How the fuck would I know? Helen thought long after the paramedic had left.

But I do know, don’t I?

You paralyze someone to render them defenseless. To leave them in a state where you can do anything you want, however depraved, however pathological.

She believed Goodwin had gotten a bad rap on Falks County FD; it was easy enough to discern. It was also easy enough to discern that the following likelihood existed: the masked ambulance jacker and the Jeffrey Dahmer copycat were the self-same man.

Christ, she thought. I wish Congress would ban ski masks.

««—»»

The man kissed the man. A cold kiss, a disaffectionate one, but a kiss nonetheless. The man didn’t know what to feel.

Only this man was—

««—»»

“Tom, I—”

Helen couldn’t finish. Too much, too soon. Was it a dream? What am I…seeing? she asked herself. The cold air chafed her face when she lowered down the window to look harder…

She hadn’t really been able to identify the impulse. It had been a long day which stretched into a long night; all the while the encouraging conversation she’d had earlier with Tom had sparked her. Something, at least, to feel good about.

She knew he needed time—he’d said that, and she respected it. But—

She’d decided to…drive by.

For what precise reason, she couldn’t name. It seemed like something that teen lovers might do when they were on the rocks. I’ll just drive by his condo, see if his lights are on, see if his car’s there… And now—

She’d never felt more confused in her life.

Helen had driven by, yes, figured that whatever the impulse was, it was harmless. I love him, she reminded herself in an utmost resoluteness. So I’m driving by.

Mistake.

She wasn’t quite sure what she was seeing at first. Two figures at the condo entry, two— Men, she saw. Then—

Jesus, that looks like Tom, doesn’t it?

She squinted through the cold glass, still trying to discern. And when she lowered the Taurus’ passenger window, she knew what she was seeing beyond a doubt.

Tom was kissing another man on the landing.

The car stopped. Helen stared.

“Aw, no,” Tom said.

“Tom, I—”

His eyes peered down. “Jesus, Helen, you should’ve called first.”

“Yeah, I guess I should’ve! I wouldn’t want to cause a difficult situation for you! I wouldn’t want to screw up any of your action!”

Tom’s suitor, a frazzled-looking younger man in jeans, long brown hair, and an old pea-coat, extricated himself from the situation as quickly as possible. His sneakered footsteps faded off in the parking lot darkness, leaving Helen and Tom to gape at each other.

“Come on in,” Tom said. “I guess we better talk.”

— | — | —

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“You’re…gay,” she stupidly mouthed.

“No, Helen. I’m bisexual. I have some gay tendencies, yes, but bisexual is what I am.”

Her mind swarmed with winter clouds. She’d parked in the fire lane, had come in upon his invitation, though she wasn’t sure why. He’s gay, she kept thinking. He’s gay, he’s gay—why didn’t he ever tell me?

He couldn’t look her in the eye right now. Some CD-ROM game was on his computer, playing through a demo—monsters prowling medieval corridors—and he used this distraction to go and turn it off.

Finally, Helen spoke up, if only to create a break which would relieve her from merely standing there in her overcoat feeling idiotic. “Bisexual, gay—what’s the difference?”

“Well, there is a difference, Helen. It’s not easy to explain but there’s still a difference. Christ, this is the 90s. I mean, don’t go Rush Limbaugh on me.”