Inside the Mind of BTK

182 INSIDE THE MIND OF BTK
Leaving her there, he returned to the bedroom to inspect the bodies.
Never having seen a dead person before, he poked and prodded
them. Next he gave the house a good going-over, making sure the
place was completely clean of any evidence. Only after he felt positive
that he hadn’t left anything behind did he head back down to the basement,
where he was surprised to find the girl awake and staring groggily
up at the noose, dangling from the ceiling.
Dennis quickly tied rope around her ankles, then around her
knees and stomach. He pulled up her sweater and used his knife to cut
into her bra, exposing one of her breasts. It excited him that he was
probably the first man ever to see this part of her body, besides her
father. He ran back upstairs and scoured every inch of the house again,
then returned to the girl.
“Are you going to do the same thing to me that you did to everyone
else?” she asked.
“No,” he lied. “Don’t worry about them. They’re all just asleep.”
Picking her up, he carried her a few feet from the stairs, then lay
her down on her back, directly beneath the pipe. The noose dangled
overhead, and he pulled it down and pushed her head through the
opening in the rope and pulled it tight. It suddenly dawned on him
that it might be nice to record this moment, so he bent down and
asked the girl, “You happen to know if your dad has a camera?”
She shook her head no, then asked him a question: “What’s going
to happen to me?”
Dennis smiled. “Don’t worry, baby,” he said. “You’ll be in heaven
tonight with the rest of your family.”
All she did was stare at him. She never said another word. A split
second later, he yanked the rope with all his might, hoisting her
upright. She gasped, blinked several times as a shudder ran through
her body. Then she died. Dennis lifted her shirt up again to get
another look at her breast. With his other hand, he masturbated. After
he finished, he reached out and touched her breast.
He heard a sound from upstairs and quickly realized that it was a
postal worker rattling around in the mailbox. It suddenly occurred to
him that he had no real idea what sort of schedule the Otero household
ran by. For all he knew, somebody—a friend, relative, or another of their
kids—might walk through the front door at any minute. He switched
off the lights, hurried up the stairs, and shut the door behind him.
After gathering together his supplies, he cranked up the thermostat
as high as it would go; he’d heard somewhere that this would