Part II:  Yes, they live next door.

Are serial killers really like the B Movie actor-of-the-week hired to play them on TV?

Well, it depends on the ratings.

If the ratings were good, then "no."

~

This is a joke a close friend of mine told to me at a particularly dark period of my journey back into the world of conscious living. As you may imagine, my friends have been few, but those who stuck, they get it. They laugh with me amongst the horror.

So, invariably, with the rise of the hit show "Dexter", the next question I hear amongst the curious is, "do you think a serial killer could really only kill for 'good'"?

I snicker, but only on the inside.

I wonder how killing can be classified? Is there a sin scale that Jesus made much like the terror threat levels which were the pinnacle success of George W. Bush's presidency?

On a good day, I respond with a modicum of diplomacy.

"Maybe."

And, really, that's the truth. Maybe.

It's no secret to you that the human psyche is so complex and diverse in it's own mysteries to try to pigeonhole even one characteristic into a "type" of person is like trying to categorize an aspect of the genius of God.

Now, some of you may be repelled that I could put "God" and "serial killer" within the same sentence let alone story. But, my reply is, it would seem crazier to me to leave God out of it. In fact, I think God belongs smack dab at the center of "it". Are serial killers not the creation of God? If not, then what created it? I've heard, “man”. But what is “man”? Isn't he a creation of God – and so by extension – you see how circular this conversation can get.

Really, what we're skirting is the indelible mystery of death and who or what is going to play the last parts in our own demise. And, while it may be the last, does it mean it is final?

I am not afraid of death but I'm afraid of dying. That's the Tango my dad, the serial killer, and God strut across my contemplations with. Strangely, the part played by death typically isn't my dad, I've survived him too long.

All I know is that my dad didn't get the memo of any moral code to follow when picking his prey. And, even if he had, I am not sure I would feel any better to know of it.

~

For a long time I tried to mine my memories for a definitive moment of riches where I could say, "yes, he loved me, when he did X, it was a sure sign he loved me."

The only thing I could ever come up with was when I saw him pulling up in the cul-de-sac in front of our rambler, with muffler thumping loudly on our old yellow Chev truck, when I was about 4 years old. I could hear the click of the keys on his belt ring as he left the vehicle and usually made his way up the driveway to the front door of our house. On this day, he asked me if mom had gotten the mail. I said no. So, he came over to me, knelt on one knee in front of me, and asked me if I would like to help. I said yes. Then he took my hand and we skipped across the asphalt semi-circle which was my playground, hand-in-hand, until we reached the mailbox.

That's where the memory ends. It was simple but I treasured it for a long time. I still do.

~

When it's happening, you just don't know any different. When they (and yes, many serial killers congregate like men at the local Elks lodge, you just don't like to think they do) tell you how you are going to behave, set the conditions for how you are going to live, outline what is acceptable as there simply is no room for unacceptable, you convince yourself that this is what every one goes through, what every home is like. You HAVE to.

You begin to study other people to see, maybe, just maybe, that life in their homes is different. Maybe, just maybe, their fathers don't use them as a lure to bring children into their sadistic fold. But, really, for your own sanity, you never wonder too long or venture too wide in daydreams which will do nothing but get you killed, too.

~

The only code I know my father lived by was "take what you want." He did, and he did it skillfully. Like any good predator, he realized there is a rhythm to follow, turning too far out of line would make him seem obvious, like leaving marks on his daughter, and then his own survival would become compromised.

~

The only thing I know for sure about serial killers, is the only person they recognize as less human than you, is themselves.