Haunted By Thoughts of Jane

Doc, what plagues your mind? What keeps you up at night? I know this session is about me and my demons, but I often wonder what steals the sleep of others. Maybe we share the same kind of twisted fascination. Fascination may be an incorrect description...I wonder...Does the same thing that arrests my thoughts also capture your mind?

Doc, I wonder what makes a person depraved, truly morally bankrupt? Are we all capable of the evil we sometimes see around us? Or are some of us more vulnerable to the whispers of the beast within? Do we have to make a decision to feed the evil or is it all-consuming? Does it strengthen with each morsel, grow ravenous, and then devour our soul? I think we feed the evil and then find that its hunger can’t be satiated. When that happens we are left with the futile task of trying to fill the bottomless pit, so we can stand on stable ground. That’s what I think, but I don’t know for certain.

What I do know: I was first exposed to the knowledge of depravity at 8 years old. When my young mind received the details of the crime, I tried to unravel it, to reveal some logic; but I was unsuccessful. I still can’t make sense of the events of that day. It was about 4 pm when I heard the story that a little girl had been raped and murdered. The crime was discovered when the father of the teenage murderer returned home early to help him dispose of the body. The father’s early arrival aroused the suspicion of his neighbours. Apparently this man usually worked from, ”..can’t see morning to can’t see evening.” His neighbours probably thought he was an intruder and decided to monitor his activities. He was caught in the act of trying to discard the body of the 6-year-old girl...like trash. Can you believe that?

Do you think love served as the impetus for the attempt to cover up the crime? Can love even exist in a soul so dark? I think of the look of terror that must have become frozen on Jane’s face as the life left her little body, terror produced as she realized she would not be able to retain possession of her innocence or her life. I wondered how the father could have seen that face and decided that protecting the murderer was more important than doing right by the victim. I guess once we become cold and lifeless we’re no longer worth much. I think that man was just as bad as his son. I guess depravity can be genetic.

***

I watched that documentary; the one about Epstein’s filthy life. Doc, it raised the usual questions. Do you think his depravity was ingrained? Or did he feed his beast? Those girls made me think of Jane. I know they were much older than Jane when they were assaulted, and I know they weren’t killed, but every sexually assaulted young girl evokes thoughts of Jane.

Epstein didn’t kill the girls. Does that mean he was better than Jane’s murderer? More redeemable somehow? I often hear people tell victims to be grateful for the life their predators allowed them to keep...to be happy they are alive. That always makes me consider the different ways a soul can be killed...all the ways to kill someone even when they are left breathing. If we prioritize the breathing, we forget to mourn the murdered childhood...the suffocated hope...the strangled dreams. Instead of telling victims to be grateful for life, we should ask how humanity can help them to breathe life into all the spaces another human has killed.

***

Doc, I had a dream about Epstein. I think I had the dream because I was angry about his premature death. Not that he deserved any more life to continue feeding his beast, but I wish he had spilled the beans before he died. I don’t know if he was helped to his grave, or if he took the coward’s way out, but I know he died with knowledge of murdered places. He has taken root in my subconscious, Doc. In this dream of mine, I’m on his plane just before it lands, and he faces his judgment. In my dream, I knew of his imminent judgment and subsequent death. I kept chanting this mantra in my mind: “Don’t die before you squeal motherfucker!” I wanted him to reveal all he knew and spend the rest of his life rotting in prison.

When I realized I couldn’t control the outcome of the events that would unfold after he exited the plane, I decided to get him to reveal all he knew before we landed -- confess his crimes and rat out his friends. I couldn’t think of a way to turn him into a leaky faucet, so I considered seducing him. Ha! Can you imagine that, Doc? Seducing a predator? That thought came and went. Then I decided to try a more philosophical approach. I sat next to him, flashed him a smile, and then asked, “Do you think we are born depraved? Or do you think it creeps up on us...one deed at a time?” I could see that he was thrown by my question; he didn’t answer. Maybe he thought I was crazy. My dream state is about as subtle as my waking state -- which is to say, not very subtle. My dream state is also as relentless as my waking state, so I asked again, “Do you think we are born depraved? Or does it creep up on us over time?”

“A little at a time for most I guess, but some may be born depraved.”

“Do you think there is any hope for a person born depraved?”

He paused and looked at me intently. “I suppose there can’t be hope for such a person. How can one be born a particular way and have hopes of becoming something different?”

“It does seem insurmountable.” I studied his features. I searched for the evil in his eyes, but he was just a man. I became terrified at that moment. How can we escape evil if we can’t recognize it? How can we know when to flee when the carrier of the beast looks just like a man?

“Do you believe in God?” I could tell I would receive no response to my question because it had been laced with accusation. “I hope you do, and I hope He finds something in you that is worth redeeming. Only hell is promised to men like you, and the hell you’ll inherit will be far worse than the hell you created for your victims.”

I saw fear flit across his face. This ephemeral countenance quickly gave way to a smug smile reminiscent of the smirk of an “untouchable”. I remembered his victims at that moment -- and the parts of their lives that have been murdered though they are still breathing.

His victims again made me think of Jane -- raped and murdered at 6 years old. I remembered her killer and his accomplice father. What awaits on the other side of life, for men who have lived in depravity?

I carry Jane with me daily; she was my friend. I wonder who she would have become if her killer had murdered parts of her instead of the whole. Would humanity have helped her to breathe life into her murdered places? Would she have risen from the grave to be reborn a survivor like Epstein’s victims? Doc, I really don’t know. What I do know is that whenever I see her mother, I can tell that parts of her have also been murdered.