To Track a Killer

I dreamt of an old fashioned house with low ceilings and wood floors. The rust colored window drapes were drawn, blocking the harsh sun from penetrating the cluttered gloom within the house. The house was a confusing mix of chaos and organization. Here, piles of clothes on a shelf in a closet with small tools and iron files resting on top. There in that drawer, 20 plus light bulbs sheathed in their yellowing cardboard protective containers, all lined up and snuggled perfectly in their place, enough to last for 20 years in this gloomy darkened old house. I wondered if having large supplies of these household items somehow gave him a feeling of comfort and stability. I noticed that the equipment for his crimes was found in 3 different rooms of the house and no attempts were made to hide them. Some things in the house were meticulously kept while other things were flung haphazardly or lain out carefully but in unusual places or configurations. The house was like his life.

This was the house of a killer. My friends and I had tracked him, chased him and hunted him down. A thrill of excitement ran through me. No one would ever know how much horror we had prevented. We would probably never get credit, but I would know. I would never forget the excitement of the hunt and the thrill of success. And I would never forget the horror. This was the house of John Wayne Gacy.

[After I woke up in the morning, I recalled hearing this name before and so I googled it. John Wayne Gacy was a famous serial killer in Chicago.]