I've always had a strange fascination with serial killers.
When I was 15 I was a really troubled kid, my boyfriend was an abusive heroin addict and I wasn't much better, I was drinking and smoking my problems away, my friend would often sell her body on Craigslist for alcohol and marijuana (She was also 15 at the time) and she became good friends with one of her Johns.
We all hung out one night and I really didn't have very much to drink but for some reason the next thing I remember was I was on the floor and couldn't move to save my life. I woke up the next morning tied to the bed, I knew what happened but pretended that I didn't and took a shower and even stole his pack of cigarettes as a kind of "Screw you" gesture.
He then offered to drive me home and to Taco Bell, the Taco Bell was closed so for some reason he just kept driving, and driving, and driving, and driving.
His apartment was in the SW Suburban area of Portland, and somehow we ended up on East 82nd Ave (For those who follow Dayton LeeRoy Rogers, that's where he would pick up his victims, it's really not that far away from a lot of forested areas).
After we passed 82nd I started worrying and started talking him down, he was starting to say pretty scary stuff by that time and I somehow convinced him to drive me home.
The way back he started joking and I would pretend that what he was saying was the funniest thing I've ever heard.
Probably the scariest hour of my entire life.
Even now, the police have my statement, and his mug-shot, but every time I hear of a girl who's gone missing in Portland, I wonder if it was possibly him. I know my mom would've reported me as a runaway and figured I'd just left on my own accord. I'm worried about the "Runaways" out there for that very reason, just because you have a history of leaving, doesn't mean that you're where you are voluntarily.