Blood of My Blood
By
Frank Goree
By
Frank Goree
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Well, where do I start?
It was Christmas when I turned myself in many years ago. My mistake was
that I began reading the headlines and started to believe what they were
writing about me. I decided it was time to end my spree for a couple
reasons. One, the countries top psychologists and FBI profilers started
to get some of the facts right. It made me think, even if they didn't
understand it all or get all the facts right.
The second, I was walking by the cathedral where I used to pick folks up
from the steps that I would occasion at times when looking to prey. There
was a priest talking with someone about a man I had killed, a local
vagrant that used to sleep on the steps. When I heard what was said about
him I was moved for the first time in years. If you ask me though he was
ready to go, he didn't scream or beg as I explained what the chalice was
for sitting on the table between us. He was a good guy about the whole
affair.
When he asked me why I do what I do I explained my medical conditions,
and although he understood, he told me he didn't agree. He asked me if I
am crazy like the papers say; I told him that at my trial the chances are
I will be deemed as sane by a jury of my peers if I'm ever caught. Not
knowing that it would eventually be words about his life that would
inspire my own self destruction.
Since I have been locked up I have been told that yes I have mental
problems. I have tried to tell them of the visions I have of my victims
as I sleep and they call them hallucinations, they tell me there is no
such thing as psychic phenomenon. They say that my victims are not part
of me just because I ingested them, I continue to argue though. They
don't understand, they don't dream the memories of my victims as I do.
During my trial it was confirmed that I have a hemoglobin disorder after
some tests, just as I tried to tell them. Explaining that thats why I
drink the blood of my victims. I have to, I don't have a choice. During
my trial someone put garlic in my food and it caused me to have an attack
in court due to it, garlic destroys my red blood cells when it infects
my bloodstream. if I knew which cop it was I would have killed them on
the spot, but I didn't and I wasn't going to start killing randomly in
the middle of a court room. Especially not after I was turning over a new
leaf.
Those that have my disease have a terrible time in the sunshine which was
the explanation the press got as to why I was giving the sunglasses I
have become known for between the walks from the police van and the
courthouse. I'm not sure if it was the pictures I would see in the papers
and on the news or just that they worked so well, either way I grew a
fondness for those aviators with the mirror finish.
The v man they would call me in the headlines, a moniker I came up with
to mock the most notorious serial killer profiler to date. After I signed
a letter with the name one time it stuck, I never used it again.
At my trial I was convicted of 23 counts of murder and given life without
parole.
It was the reunion of my arrest, Christmas, and I decided I needed to
know the truth about spirituality and god, so I attacked the priest. I
was able to get enough of his blood for what I needed it for while
leaving him alive. Besides, who wants to kill a priest on Christmas. I
figured God wouldn't mind as long as the guy didn't die, after all I was
on a spiritual journey.
When it hit the headlines that I attacked a priest on Christmas the news
went nationwide and I began seeing a bunch of stories comparing me with
“the devil himself.” Eventually one of my pen pals wrote me to tell me
Bill O'Reilly named me as not only the pinhead of the day, but of the
season. He also said I would be the Grinch that stole Christmas if
not for being a serial killer, as opposed to a thief.
Some people tell me I have a chip on my shoulder when I explain my
spiritual beliefs, they might be right but who knows. It's hard to be
thankful when you are born having to kill to feel normal, to rid yourself
of pain in your body that is more excruciating than heroin detox.
Its not that I don't like the ideas behind most religions, I just think
they are all formed around lies. You go to a religion to worship God and
end up worshiping a man that probably never existed, the stories are good
though. In the end I don't regret that it was a catholic priest, he's all
that was handy at the time.
After Christmas I got a letter from Richard Ramirez or the night stalker,
apparently its a hobby of his to write fellow serial killers. He welcomed
me to the dark side and reminded me that satanists never wear gold. Even
signed it with an inverted pentagram, I decided not to write back. He
tried to tell me that Satan is the only way, that in the end it would be
us that would reign in blood.
Overall it just made me feel misunderstood. After all, it was about the
spiritual journey. I didn't want to hurt a priest; and I definitely don't
worship the Devil, but I needed those images I get in my dreams. In this
case, those experiences of a holy life one can only get from a life of
the ultimate devotion.
During the first rest there were plenty of flashes of seminary and
sitting on bended knees, hands clutched with an ache in the knees but
nothing out of the ordinary. Devotion and a spell of happiness, a feeling
that he was doing good in the world for a cause greater than himself. It
was nice but its not not what I was looking for. The one thing I was
surprised to find was so much fear of the unknown. I thought that was
better left alone though. Besides, I've seen enough of that through my
own victims eyes.
Strands of incense drifting into the air from an alter with a bloody
Jesus hanging on a cross above it, tending to the rows of lit candles
beneath the image of The Virgin Mary. Visions of a man of the cloth
sitting behind a metal plate hearing confessions, doling out Hail Marys
and Our Fathers.
As I lay in the state between sleep and wake, being aware that I was one
with his life force I thought of the higher spiritual matters. Hoping to
get visions of truth, something of sustenance. Then I realized the
secret, the truth behind it all. It's all about one's faith.
There's not much I can say about the subject other than it's the common
factor in all spiritual matters, and it goes to show what our minds are
really capable of in a transcendent reality. I wish I had more to say
about it, but from that point it's pretty much a personal experience for
everyone I suppose.
So, I guess that's it.
I'm pretty sure they will never send me a priest on Christmas again, but
I'm also hoping they might reconsider sometime and send me a Buddhist
monk. Now that would be interesting.