Interview with Dead

In 2005, a killing spree took place at a café in a small, lesser-known town in Rhode Island. There were a total of 17 victims; 11 were wounded via gunshot, 4 were stabbed, and 2 were bludgeoned with a hammer. In total, 11 people were killed and 6 were injured. There were no victims who were able to escape, as the exits had all been blocked by the perpetrator. They were later arrested and identified as Leroy Dennison. The man was wearing black sweatpants and a black sweatshirt that both featured a custom-painted skeleton print. The outfit was also complemented with military boots, a seemingly also custom-made, crude, skull-inspired mask, and a backpack that carried the weapons. These weapons included a handgun with a pack of ammo, a pocket knife, and a ball peen hammer. However, of the more peculiar details of the case, when interrogated, Dennison would only answer and identify himself as “Dead”.
My first and last interview with Dennison, or “Dead”, was on April 21st, 2007. I was around seventeen years old when I had first heard the news; it had a tremendous impact on me and my grief stricken family. Ever since then I wanted to interview him, just so I could figure out what would lead him to do this. It wasn’t until two years later that I was able to do so for an article. However, the interview was never published. I was honestly certain that I had thrown out the transcripts, but here I am now with these documents in my hands many years later.
— 
Name: DENNISON, LEROY
Sex: Male 	
Race: Mixed (Caucasian - Asian)	
Eye: Brown
Weight: 158 Lbs.	
DOB: 9/17/1982	
Hair: Black	
Height: 5,6”
— 
I was face to face with Dead, separated by a strong glass barrier. His left hand was handcuffed to the table. I took out my notepad and began to jot down my questions and his answers.
(ME): “So, Mr. Dennison, if you don’t mind me asking-”
Before I could even finish the question, I was interrupted by Dead swiping his hand across the glass barrier, just slow enough to make a noticeable interrupting noise.
DEAD: “I will only waste my time with your questions if you refer to me by my name; Dead, plain and simple”.
He really did insist on being called that stupid name. I crossed out his name on the note header and replaced it with 'Dead'. It was ridiculous, and at the time I thought that he would glance at my notes and refuse to talk with me, though in hindsight I don't think he was worried or could even see what I was writing. I was originally going to ask him what his childhood was like, but then I got distracted by the name.
(ME): “May I ask why you chose the name Dead to be referred to as?”
DEAD: “Why not? Why is Clark Kent ‘Superman’, why is Bruce Wayne ‘Batman’? These two have actual names, but rarely do people remember them most by a realistic name. Not everyone knows Bruce Wayne, but everyone knows Batman. Leroy Dennison will be forgotten, but Dead will linger”.
(ME): “Okay, moving on.” (what else could you reply to that insane ramble?) “What was your childhood like?”
Dead’s face turned somber, breaking his soulless aura.
DEAD “Oh… my childhood. Well, my older brother, he got around a lot, maybe a bit too much, got himself into some trouble. Well, he ended up getting hooked on prescriptions… and he eventually overdosed. The grief was so strong within my family, my parents, they- they split up. My mother would never visit us after she moved out. And my father- he started drinking…”
(ME): “What would your father do when he was drunk?”
DEAD: “He would- he would- … ”
He was trying to answer the question but eventually just broke down into hysterical sobs. After a few more seconds of it, he completely snapped out of his crocodile tears and went right back to being emotionless.
DEAD: “How about that story? Personally, I find it a bit cliché, but journalists seem to love it. Or perhaps you would prefer a different origin; bullied throughout school? Raised as an orphan living in a shoe box? Battling any sort of mental illness you can find in the books? Filled with demons? Influenced by The Boogeyman?”
(ME): “... I don’t understand”
DEAD: “You journalists just can’t help it; you have to ask every time what the criminal’s childhood was like. If it’s a tragic one then it gives people that closure that no person could possibly be that naturally evil - something had to have happened for them to be like this. So you dig and you dig and you dig for that little sob story event and make it what caused their rampage. But tell me, what happens if there is no backstory? What if there was no motive and the guy just felt like it, how about that?”
(ME): “So is that your case?”
DEAD: “Skip the question. I think I made it perfectly clear that I wasn’t interested in sharing that meaningless information.”
(ME): “Okay.”
I crossed out the question.
(ME): “What made you want to target that specific café?”
DEAD: “Has anyone ever told you that you’re an awkward interviewer? Whenever you ask a question, it’s like you’re a child reciting a script for a school play, and you’re making eye contact with the stage ground so you don’t have to peek into a bored audience and your parents pretending that you’re doing any good”.
(ME): “Please answer my question.”
My patience was running out for this pretentious fuck’s non-answers.
DEAD: “Hmm…”
The bastard simply shrugged.
(ME): “You’re telling me there was absolutely no reason why you chose that specific café? You just figured, ‘fuck it, this one will do’?”.
He laughed at my response, not so much because he thought what I said was funny, but more because of my visible impatience that I wasn’t getting any valuable answers.
DEAD: “Your frustration is amusing. It’s tricky being an interviewer when the person you’re interviewing won’t fill in the blanks for you, isn’t it?”
(ME): “What do you gain out of this?”
DEAD: “Besides your irritation, I become more interesting to the public. What’s so fun about a killer that you know everything about? Once you have that sense of the unknown in a person, you just have to find out more. People will find you more interesting because of their endless quest to know all”.
(ME): “... So was it all for fucking attention? Is that the reason why eleven innocent people had to fucking die, because you needed everyone’s eyes on you?!”
DEAD: “Not attention, my dear, attention can only be so short. I wish to be remembered. So many people wish to be eternally remembered for something, whether they make songs, whether they make films and shows, whether they act in a big production, or create something meaningful. Me, I would like to be remembered as Dead”.
This son of a bitch! He did all of this stuff just to be remembered as some fearsome figure, as if he wasn’t a pathetic pretentious sadist!
DEAD: “How’s that for an answer, Claire?”
My heart skipped a beat as he said my name.
DEAD: “Sorry to startle you, I have a couple people, dare I say allies, who are willing to give me information on the people who I meet with, sometimes I just can't help but get curious about the people who wish to dissect my immoral brain. The interviewer before you had pages worth of adultery scandals, and the one before him; narcotics charges… you seem to be pretty squeaky clean, however. Though I will say, you do seem to be pretty distant with your older brother nowadays”.
A greater wave of rage rises over me, the though that this guy had "fans" was enough to make me see red... then it only grew stronger as he brought up my brother...
(ME): “Don’t say a fucking word about my brother”.
DEAD: “Liam, was it? There seems to be no recent pictures of the both of you together in about two years or so? What happened?”
(ME): “Shut up”.
DEAD: “Did you two have a falling out or something? Did he move out of town perhaps?”
(ME): “Shut your goddamn mouth”.
My voice started to raise.
DEAD: “Or perhaps maybe… there’s a bigger reason why you chose to interview me”.
(ME): “Shut the fuck up!”
DEAD: “Tell me Claire, what really happened to Liam? Did he crave a nice hot latte at the wrong time and place, Claire?”
The final part of the interview consisted of me yelling profanities and insults at him until security came in and escorted me out. “Dead”... Leroy gave me a final wave goodbye with a smug grin as the police took him back to his cell. I decided not to publish the interview because it would only give him what he wanted; a mainstream media outlet giving him fame. Shit, I guess even just sharing this is technically what he always wanted. I did some research on Leroy and where he was now; he’s still serving time in prison and may even be sentenced to the death penalty this year. I just hope that my brother along with all of those victims and their families can finally find peace.
Category:Mental Illness