Murder Isn't A Solution

While I was still in prison for “raping” a 14 year old boy (when I was 16), two significant events occurred that caused me – or rather, allowed me – to decide that if I was ever to get any “justice” in this world I would have to take it for myself.
Both of these events were directly related to society's attack on sex offenders.
The first significant event, that I later used as a convenient and convincing excuse to dehumanize children so I could use them in my schemes, was the receipt of my minimum sentence (which determines the actual amount of time spent in prison until I was eligible for parole). It was set to five times over the normal range for my crime (I got 186 months, the range was 30 to 40 months, 40 being the theoretical “high end” for a first offense like mine).
My sentence was so exceptional that I nearly went into emotional shock, literally, when I was told. I lost all peripheral vision for about an hour and had memory blackouts while I tried to grasp this inconceivable reality. It took me several days to recover, and even then I thought it must be a terrible mistake. It had to be a mistake, since that was the only way I could survive the emotional impact.
Over time of course I got over the “denial stage” and began the process of developing more long term coping mechanisms. Of course, I got no counseling or professional advice, I was expected to “suck it up”. It was all a part of my “punishment” (oh ya, and “rehabilitation”). So the coping mechanisms I came up with were mostly supplied by the only source I had, other inmates, who had all learned numerous and apparently effective ways of dealing with their own “unfair sentences”.
I began fantasizing a lot about what I would do when I got out. Of course, since I was only 16 when I was arrested, and still living at home and going to highschool, I had no way of imagining how unrealistic and even crazy my fantasies were. But they helped me survive, and that was all that mattered.
There were two main reasons why I got such an exceptional sentence, and I was oblivious at the time to both of them.
One reason was politics. Unbeknownst to me, a small boy was attacked by a mental hospital patient who severed the boy's penis. The mother of the boy became politically active, using her son's tragedy to promote her own agenda of tougher sex crime laws (e.g. longer sententes for sex offenders). Since my victim was also a young boy (never mind that so was I) my case was “politically sensitive”. If I had received anything less than an exceptionally exceptional sentence certain people in the community may have been aroused against the Parole Board which was under a lot of political preasure already from new sentencing guideline laws that were to go into effect soon.
The other reason I received such a long sentence was because of a scathing report from the “Sexual Psychopath” Treatment Program. I did not finish the program after the therapist tried to pressure my mother for sex by threatening my status in the program (this was all documented, but the Parole Board believed the therapist, not me or my mother).
The second event during my incarceration that further supported my decision to “get even” with society, was the public murder, by hanging, of one Westley Alan Dodd. Dodd had also victimized small boys sexually, so that made him akin to me. He murdered three boys and was caught trying to kidnap another boy at a movie theater.
It wasn't as though I sympathized with Dodd so much because of his sexual preferences, as much as it was his repentance after he was caught. Dodd expressed repeatedly that he could not control his fantasies and that he prefered to die rather than grow old in prison. He tried to tell people how things could have been different for him and especially for the boys he killed, “if only people would listen”, instead of being so quick to judge and condemn a man like him; which was a man like me.
I understood Dodd completely. Even while I was still in prison I tried to get help, but no one would listen. It was all about rules and regs. I was not just a number, but a “bad number” that was to be delt with systematically. Of the only two people who ever did listen to me, one was ignored by the Parole Board (Dr. Sally Sloat, a prison psychologist who told the Parole Board, in person, that I needed treatment and was an excellent candidate for treatment outside of prison – all the Board heard was “needs treatment” and they actually added more time to my sentence!).
The other was my “Man” (Lover), another inmate who also happened to have a B.A. Degree in psychology. He wasn't just ignored, he was harassed by the guards and ultimately serving more time in prison because of trying to help me (which he knew would happen when he made the choice to help).
So I understood Dodd perfectly, and when they hung him at the Washington State Penitentuary in Walla Walla, while I was there (1993), to “send a message” to other would-be child killers, like me! But the only message I heard was not the one that the people sending the message intended.
The message I heard was, “Murder is a good solution for a bad person”. Except to me the “bad person” was the society that condemned me, that condemned Dodd, my “brother”, and unwittingly condemned themselves to my wrath and vengence.
I literally swore to myself on the day Dodd was murdered that I would avenge him. Of course by that time I had already decided to avenge myself, so my oath for Dodd was really a commitment to “attack society” more than once, and I am presently sitting here in a California jail cell as a direct result of that commitment.
A prudent reader will note that I am not claiming that these “significant events” that occurred while I was in prison are “reasons” for why I ended up raping and murdering children when I got out. They are not reasons; they are a part of what I did, not excuse or reason for it. The two girls I murdered in Seattle were a part of the exceptionally long sentence I served in prison for “raping” a young man. And the boy that I murdered here in California was (is) a part of Dodd's “execution”.
There are no reasons and excuses for any of it. But there can be understanding, if we stop focussing on cause and effect, which only solicits blame and excuses, and instead embrace our own part in the madness. That's exactly what I did when I picked that little girl up in Montana and carried her home to Idaho. I realized that I was a part of the very insanity that I condemned! I was not the cause, but I was a part. I saw that murder was not a solution after all, it was only another part of the problem.
So I stopped murdering. I also stopped judging, condemning, and blaming (i.e. “reasoning”) and started understanding for the first time in my life.