I’m awoken by a car door slamming outside, and then the front door opens a few seconds later. My mom — Jeff’s mom — walks in, her arms full of brightly-colored shopping bags, and my little brother David trails closely behind.
When she notices me, she grimaces.
“Jeff, why are you all dirty? Don’t sit on the couch in those filthy clothes. You’re getting dirt all over the place.”
I shift in my seat. “Sorry, Mom. I guess I didn’t really think about it.”
She huffs and shakes her head as she goes off toward the kitchen. Dave follows her, skipping a bit as he walks. I figure a shower will probably be good for me anyway.
I head to my room to collect a change of clothes, then go to the bathroom to clean up.
I close my eyes for the duration of the shower, trying hard not to look at myself. It’s so awkward and uncomfortable, showering in a different body. I know I need to get used to it if I ever want to get through the days, but I still feel so weird and intrusive being in someone else's skin. Like I’m an unwelcome stranger prying into his life. But I don’t exactly have a choice — I wouldn’t be here if I had any say in it whatsoever. And I can’t go around being dirty and gross.
After drying off, I pull on a fresh pair of boxers, pants, and a T-shirt before heading back downstairs.
My mom has put away the groceries, and my dad — Jeff's father, Lionel Dahmer — comes in from the garage. He barely acknowledges Joyce as he strides into the living room, carrying his briefcase and a newspaper. He goes to sit on the couch, but stops as soon as he notices the streaks of dirt on the cushions.
“Jeff? Dave? Why is there dirt all over the couch?” He looks around at the two of us. “Which one of you did this?”
Dave shrugs. "Wasn’t me."
Lionel turns to me, and his expression grows stern.
“Clean this up. Right now.”
I sigh. Guess it’s only fair.
I grab a rag from the sink and begin wiping away the dirt.
"Geez, Jeff," my dad says as he watches me. “What were you doing outside?”
I glance up at him. "Just taking a walk. Why?"
He frowns. "You should be inside today. It’s muddy out. I don’t want you tracking that crap in here ever again, you hear me?”
I nod. "Yes, sir."
I finish cleaning the couch, then head for the stairs. When I reach the bottom step, I turn to see Lionel looking at me from the armchair, shaking his head as he opens his newspaper with a furious rustle of pages.
I go upstairs to my room and lie down on the bed. I'm still exhausted, despite my nap in front of the TV earlier, and I just want to sleep for an hour or so before going downstairs for dinner and pretending everything's fine.
As soon as I close my eyes, though, my mind starts wandering.
I try to focus on my breathing, but the anxiety keeps creeping back in.
How did I end up here?
It wasn't my decision. I didn't choose to jump back in time. I didn't choose to be stuck in Jeff's body.
But I am here. And I’m completely lost as to how or why. For all I know, I could be stuck living as Jeff Dahmer for the rest of my life.
I roll onto my side and stare at the ceiling. I feel a strange mix of anger and sadness swirling around in my chest. Anger at whatever circ*mstances sent me here, and sadness at how lost I feel, how much I miss everything and everyone I know. It's not f*cking fair.
The feeling of helplessness starts to build up, along with a hot pressure behind my eyes as they quickly fill with tears. I flop down onto my side, throw my glasses off my face, and grip onto my pillow as my body begins to spasm with quiet sobs.
I'm not sure how much time passes before I fall asleep.
***
I wake up with a start. My heart is pounding, and I'm covered in sweat.
I sit up and wipe my face, staring at the blank white ceiling.
I glance at my hands. My vision is blurred, but I can tell those hands are still Jeff's. Not mine. Yup, I’m still him.
I exhale a long breath through my nose, close my eyes, and massage my temples, trying to clear my head. There's no point in worrying about something that I can't control. All I can do is deal with things as they come.
I stand up and take a few deep breaths, trying to slow my heartbeat. Eventually, I’m able to get myself to a more-or-less stable state of mind.
My dad is sitting on the couch when I walk downstairs. He glances up at me as I enter the living room, and I think he might be glaring at me, but the anger on his face vanishes almost immediately, replaced by a more neutral expression.
“Hey, son," he says. "How are you feeling?"
I shake my head. "Eh. Could be better."
“Not looking forward to school starting soon, huh?”
Oh sh*t, that’s right. I’m gonna have to go back to f*cking HIGH SCHOOL.
“Nope,” I answer honestly.
My dad stands up, walks over to me, and puts his hand on my shoulder. His expression softens somewhat.
“No reason to stress yourself out, okay? It’s just one more year. You can handle it.” He pats my shoulder a couple times and gives me a brief reassuring smile, then goes back to the couch to continue reading his newspaper.
I smile at him, but inside, my mood has deflated even more than it was already. f*cking high school. I never thought in a million years that I’d have to deal with that again. Well… guess I’ll have to slog through it until I can figure out what the hell is going on.
Over the next couple of weeks, I start to get into the routine of being Jeff, more or less. So far, my thoughts seem fairly normal. Nothing violent or graphic, at least not yet. My mind does seem to wander to sex a lot more than it used to, though. I guess I am stuck as a teenage male for now, hormones and all, so it’s to be expected.
I seem to be fantasizing about men quite a lot — exclusively men. It’s odd. I was bisexual before; I seemed to think about men and women almost equally, with maybe a slight emphasis on the female side of things. But if I ever try to fantasize about an attractive woman now, there’s nothing there. No feelings whatsoever. If anything, I’m slightly repulsed at the idea.
I guess I’m a gay guy now, I muse.
It really isn’t just about me wearing Jeff’s appearance. I’m slowly becoming him. On the inside as well as the outside.
I don’t really know what to make of this.
It’s not about being gay; that’s not my concern, especially since I was previously bi. Rather, if my feelings and my desires can change to fit the body I’m in… what about my thoughts? My decision-making?
Will I end up losing my whole personality?
The idea scares me. Makes me feel on edge.
I don’t know if I could live with myself if I truly became Jeff Dahmer in every way. I couldn’t live with myself if I caused serious harm to another person. I can’t imagine wanting to hurt someone else at all, let alone killing them.
And I don’t even have anyone to talk to about it.
***
It’s Tuesday, September 6, 1977, the first day of my senior year of high school, and I’m wide-awake at 6am. My mind is buzzing with all kinds of thoughts, scattered all over the place.
It’s been three weeks since this all began. Three weeks of living as Jeff. I can’t say I’m 100% used to it yet; I don’t know if I ever will be. But at least I no longer feel disgusted every time I look in the mirror.
I realize that I haven’t viewed Jeff as a monster for a while now. Right now, he’s just a kid — a weird, lonely, broken kid with a chaotic home life and a bunch of thoughts and fantasies that he can’t tell anyone about. And the longer I walk in his shoes, the more sympathy I feel for him.
He didn’t ask to have disturbing imagery flooding his mind like this, nor did he ask to be sexually excited by any of it. He didn’t ask to be born gay in a time when hom*ophobia was still the norm. And he hadn’t harmed anyone yet, not at this point in time.
Not only that, but I don’t FEEL like a psychopath or a sad*st. I figure that if Jeff truly had any of those tendencies, they’d have surfaced in my own mind by now. But I still feel empathy, still have concern for others. I guess I could say my feelings are a bit… duller than I remember. Less prominent day-to-day. Sometimes I get really intense flashes of anger, sadness, or overall instability that dissolve as soon as they appear, but I figure that’s just part of being a teenager again.
As far as I can tell, Jeff Dahmer isn’t really that different from any other teenage boy at the core.
If anything, I feel this urge to take care of him. To nurture him, to heal him emotionally, even though he himself isn’t actually here. I can only see his face in my reflection, see life through his sad blue eyes. But I can’t hold him or comfort him. It’s a desperate yearning feeling, like seeing a starving child and not having any food or money to give them. Except this boy staring back at me in the mirror every day is love-starved instead. Just out of reach of a huge bear hug.
I don’t even know if it’s possible for me to change history. I might just be playing his life out as it originally was, all the major decisions having been made for me decades ago, unable to be rewritten. A crushing sadness fills me at the thought, a sadness that has no healing balm to ease it. The only thing I can do is put it out of sight and out of mind.
But that’s pretty much impossible when the very skin you’re in is a constant reminder of someone else’s tragic story.
I look at the clock and realize I should probably get ready for school. It will be weird walking into class as Jeff Dahmer, but I figure I can just act like everything is business as usual. I recalled that Jeff was a pretty introverted guy, a loner. Maybe that will make it easier to blend in and not be noticed.
I shower and put on some clothes. I grab a pair of jeans and a dark blue button-down shirt. I lay out the items I need to take to school: my backpack, a couple of notebooks, and a few pens and pencils.
After I dress, I go down to the kitchen and pour some cereal and milk for breakfast. As I eat, I think about how I’m going to get through the day.
I remember from my research that he was generally quiet, but also a bit of a class clown. He would just do random stupid sh*t and people would laugh, I guess. In that case, it seems like it might even be kind of fun to be him.
I guess that means I should just take it one day at a time and see where it goes.
I finish eating and then head to the bathroom to take a quick peek at my reflection in the mirror. I run my hand through my sandy hair, smoothing it out somewhat, and adjust my glasses so they’re not crooked. Good enough.
I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. I can play this part. I know I can. One day at a time.
I grab my stuff and walk out the door, shutting it behind me.
***
I arrive at school ten minutes early, hoping to make a good first impression on the teacher. I sit down at my desk and wait for everyone else to file into class.
Mrs. Morris, a short grey-haired lady in a burgundy blazer, a black velvet blouse, and a matching long skirt, walks in and looks around the room. Once the bell rings and everyone has taken their seats, she assumes her place at the front of the classroom and begins to take attendance.
When she gets to me, her eyes focus on me for a few seconds longer than usual.
"Jeff Dahmer," she says in a clear, melodic voice. "I’ve heard a lot about you since you started attending this school."
She has? Okay, then. I smile and nod, not sure what to say.
She smiles warmly, and I can tell she's pleased by my polite response. I feel the other students’ eyes on me, though, and I try to ignore it.
"You're a very smart young man, Mr. Dahmer. I'm sure we'll learn much from each other over the course of the coming months."
I smile back at her awkwardly. “Thank you, ma'am."
For the rest of the morning, Mrs. Morris sticks to the schedule pretty strictly, and all seems routine. She continues to take attendance, explains the protocol of homeroom this year, and hands out a few notes. Soon the bell rings, signaling the end of class.
As soon as the other students file out, Mrs. Morris calls on me.
"Mr. Dahmer, could you please stay after class for a few minutes?"
Huh? Did I do something wrong?
I nod quickly. "Of course, Mrs. Morris."
I get up from my desk and walk up to hers. I can feel my heart beating faster in anticipation.
"I'd like to ask you a few questions about your personal life,” says Mrs. Morris. “If that’s okay with you.”
Now this is getting weird. I wonder why she’s so eager to get to know me in particular.
“What kinds of activities are you interested in?” she continues.
I open my mouth to answer, but pause. Should I talk about Jeff or myself? My own interests or Jeff's? I can’t even remember off the top of my head what Jeff did with his free time, aside from collecting dead animals. So I decide to make some things up that sound plausible.
"Well, I enjoy watching movies and TV shows. And I like to read. I’ll read anything I can get my hands on."
Mrs. Morris nods. "That sounds nice. And your hobbies?"
"Oh, I uh… I like to draw. I sketch pictures sometimes. I've always wanted to be an artist. I'm not very good at it yet, though."
She smiles. "Well, I hope you continue to pursue your passion. Just keep it up, and you’ll be a professional in no time. You seem like a very well-rounded young man."
I nod. "Thank you, ma’am.”
"I was wondering if you would mind answering a few questions regarding your family," she says.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Where were you raised?"
I shrug. "In Ohio. And a couple other places. I was born in Milwaukee, but I’ve been here for about ten years.” I’m pretty sure that’s correct, anyway.
"Do you have any siblings?”
"Yes, a younger brother.”
"And what about your parents?”
"They’re still together.” Barely, I think. They haven’t said one kind word to each other since I first woke up as Jeff.
"Hmm…" she murmurs, thinking. "How do they feel about you being gay?"
…What?
How does she know that? I don’t think Jeff ever came out to anyone in high school. To do so in the ‘70s would’ve been social suicide.
"Um…” I begin. “I… I don’t know what you mean.”
She nods. "It's okay. It doesn't matter as long as they treat you well.”
"Oh, yeah. They're great.”
Mrs. Morris glances at the clock on her desk. "Well, then, Mr. Dahmer, I think that will be all for today."
I nod and start to turn toward the door, but she stops me.
"One more question,” she says quietly.
I stop and turn around slowly. Her eyes have changed. They look almost… mischievous.
"What do you think about magic?”
Magic? Is she serious? Why?
I shrug. "I guess it sounds kind of interesting, but I don't really believe it exists."
She smiles and pats my arm. "Not everyone believes in magic, but I do. Not only do I believe in it, but I've seen it up close and personal.”
"You did?"
"Yes. The same thing that happened to you is happening to several people all over the country."
I frown. "You mean…”
“I know you’re not really Jeff Dahmer, Ruby.”
…Oh my God.
How did she know my real name!?
She tilts her head, studying me. "What’s it like to live in the year 2023?”
My jaw hits the floor. I want to say a million different things, ask a million questions, but I suddenly can’t form words.
I stare at her for a few seconds longer. The corners of her mouth slowly curl up into a knowing smile.
And I turn around and run like hell.
