Chapter Text
“If you could bring anybody back from the dead, who would you choose?”
You stopped and snapped your head to the side, perplexed.
“Where did that come from?” You asked with a confused chuckle. Your very best friend, Danny, smiled and showed teeth, laughing alongside you.
“I don’t know. Just thought about it.” He kicked his feet back and forth against the side of your bed, and you two sat in silence for a brief moment.
“Can it be anybody?” You asked. “Like, famous or no?”
“Yeah, anybody.” He affirmed with a sure nod. You hummed to yourself, combing through as many notorious faces as possible. Many stood out: Robin Williams, William Shakespeare, Steve Irwin, Ronald Reagan. So many names. All of them would be stupendous to have lunch with. The stories they’d have for you. Their outlooks on life. So much to learn. However, there seemed to be an underlying problem with all of them:
They just didn’t need to be back.
You realized how difficult it would be for Shakespeare to adjust to your dirty, modern, ever changing society. Steve Irwin died doing what he loved and didn’t need to be exposed to such an ugly world. Not again. It didn’t deserve him. Robin Williams didn’t even want to be there, so bringing him back would only be a disturbance. A slap in the face. He left because he was unhappy, and that hurt you. Thinking about it, there were very few people who you felt qualified for such a society. Who could accept the grittiness of it all. Who would want to be back. Truly, the ugliest of people deserved to come back for round two. They could handle it. They could survive. Hell, maybe even better themselves. Your mind strayed, against your will, to a much darker place than you expected. A few serial murders came to mind, and suddenly, an infamous name surfaced its way to your lips.
“Jeffrey Dahmer.”
You answered without thought, only then realizing how quiet it had been until that moment. You glanced over to Danny, whose face contorted into an expression of near disgust. That obviously wasn’t the answer he was expecting.
“Why...?” He asked very slowly, sitting perfectly still at that point. Your eyes fell to the intricate pattern of your bed sheets, searching for a rational explanation. It seemed much clearer in your head, but trying to explain it out loud proved to be much more difficult than anticipated.
“Well,” you started, “I think a lot of what happened could’ve been avoided if he were alive in these times, ya know?”
“No, I really don’t.” He laughed and shook his head. “Elaborate.”
“Well, I mean... think about it.” You sat up straight and leaned closer to Danny. “He was born in a time where being gay was a huge no-no. That was one of lots of things he felt like he had to hide. I don’t know, I just- I feel like he wouldn’t have had as much to keep to himself and he could’ve been more open to people. His entire life wouldn’t have been such a secret.” You stopped and looked at Danny, a waiting expression on his face.
“Yeah...? Keep going.” He urged.
“I mean, that was a pretty big factor. I also feel like his interest in bones is a little more normal today, ya know?” You paused, and Danny nodded. “People looked at that kinda stuff as weird back then. If you were into cutting shit open for fun and thought it was cool, you were a freak. But like, now that’s an entire career choice and hobby. Forensics. Taxidermy. They make so many tv shows about that shit.” You stopped to corral your thoughts, then continued. “I don’t know, I just think he wouldn’t be so outcasted in today’s time. ‘Weird’ isn’t really weird anymore. I just think he may have a chance at a normal life here, ya know, with the weird sex slave shit. He even said he wouldn’t have killed anyone if they’d just stayed with him for a few weeks. And people nowadays do that shit all the time, living in people’s basements and being pets and shit. That’s the norm.” You stopped and took an actual breath, eyes on Danny for any signs of a particular emotion. Nothing stood out in his eyes. His expression was perfectly neutral.
“Hmm.” That was all Danny said.
“Well?” You asked with your fingers interlocked.
“I like it. I mean, it makes sense.” He chuckled. “A little in depth, but yeah. It’s a neat answer. Also kinda cool because it’s where we live too.”
“Ha, yeah. Good ol’ Milwaukee.” You sighed amusedly. “Do you think he could?” You then inquired thoughtlessly.
“What? Survive this day and age? Hmm, I’m not sure. It’s possible.” He affirmed, and like that, the room got quiet. The silence lingered, and a slight buzzing of vacancy filling the gaps of where conversation should’ve been. After a minute, Danny shot a glance to you.
“I’d choose Vincent Price.” He whispered, a cheesy grin on his face. You both busted into a fit of laughter, and it soon died into light giggles. “I mean, he’s my dad. Can’t help it. I gotta.”
“Hell, you wish he was.”
Later that night after Danny had gone home, you sat back in bed, your feet dangling into the void. It only then occurred to you how boring living alone had become. At first, the freedom of a house without parents and siblings was a refreshing medicine long overdue. Now, it was stale and too quiet for your liking. Maybe that was why you liked Danny over at your place so much. He brought much needed life to that one bedroom prison of yours. To ward away the nerves of silence, you took the initiative to get up and be as productive as you could at the moment. A quick journey from your bedroom to the living room was all it took to feel better, and with a quick flick of a switch, the tv roared to life.
“Much better.” You noted, starting into the kitchen. A quick midnight snack- or meal, rather- would wind your night down to a much more settled close. However, as you passed the large set of windows in the living room, a faint movement caught your attention. It could just barely be seen through the thin curtains, but it was undoubtedly there. Probably some crazy old homeless man. Even still, you stopped in place, tilted your head for a better look, then pushed back the baby blue drapery with your fingertip discretely. It was, just as suspected, a person wandering through the neighborhood street, illuminated by a single lamp. The figure looked to be crouched lower to the ground with arms spread out, as if the person were searching for something.
“Jesus Christ, crazy old fuckers.” You muttered, unnerved by the sense of befuddlement in the person’s seemingly lost movements. You squinted your eyes and leaned closer into the window, realizing two very distinct facts.
One, the person was most definitely a man, and a very largely built one at that. His frame was extremely tall and broad, hunched over on the road.
And two, he had dropped his glasses on the side of the street. You could tell because the pair was sitting at the edge of your driveway, the lenses glinting in the street lamp. He stumbled helplessly in the pitch black of night, and you couldn’t help but feel bad for the man. Against your better judgement, you made for the front door hastily and twisted the knob, pushing the door wide open. He stopped moving after nearly falling to the ground and turned in your direction.
“Hey,” you called out to the man, inching slowly to him, “I found your glasses.” At the end of your driveway, you scooped the clunky, square framed glasses up from the ground and cleaned the lenses with the end of your t-shirt.
“Oh, thank you.” The man’s bland, deep, and slightly nasally voice flowed forth. You couldn’t place why, but his tone seemed to rid you of the anxiety you were feeling in the dark with a stranger. As you stepped to the figure in distress, his glasses in hand, you noticed his mountainous shoulders shaking from the cold. It was 30°, after all. Poor guy. You reached his fairly large outstretched hand, trembling horribly, and placed the glasses into his palm with confidence. “Thank you so much.” He expressed his gratitude sincerely, yet with little emotion embedded in his words.
“You’re welcome. Would you like-“ you started to offer him a hot meal or shower or anything to warm him up, and that’s when you stopped. At first, it took a moment to realize why the figure seemed so familiar. When it clicked, Your blood nearly stood still, hair standing on end, breath stolen from your lungs as the man stepped directly into the street light and put the glasses on his face. You could hardly believe the sight.
It was, without a sliver of doubt, Jeffrey Lionel Dahmer.