One of them is an artist, or at least has strong artistic tendencies, I thought to myself and made a mental note. What kind of artist would be involved in something like this? I was familiar with several theories about links between creativity and psychopaths. Bundy, Dahmer, even Manson, could be considered “creative” killers. On the other hand, Richard Wagner, Degas, Jean Genet, and many other artists had exhibited psychopathic behavior in their lives, but they didn’t kill anyone.
Then, about sixty-five seconds into the film, a narration began. We heard two voices: a man’s and a woman’s. Something dramatic was happening. It caught all of us by surprise.
Jack and Jill
had decided to speak to us.
It was almost as if the killers were right there in the studio. The two of them alternated speaking as the film collage continued, but both voices had been electronically filtered, presumably so they couldn’t be recognized. I would move on unscrambling the voices as soon as the show was over. But the show sure wasn’t over yet.
JACK: For a long time, people like us have sat back and taken the injustices dished out by the elite few in this country. We have been patient and suffering and, for the most part, silent. What is the cynical saying—don’t just do something, sit there? We have waited for the American system of checks and balances to take hold and work for us. But the system has not worked for a long, long time. Nothing seems to work anymore. Does anyone seriously dispute that?
JILL: Unscrupulous people, such as lawyers and businessmen, have learned to take advantage of our innocence and our goodwill and, most of all, our generosity of spirit. Let us repeat that important thought—highly unscrupulous people have learned to take advantage of our innocence, our goodwill, and our wonderful American spirit. Many of them are in our government, or work closely with our so-called leaders.
JACK: Look at the faces before you in this film. These are the disenfranchised. These are the people without any hope, or any belief in our country anymore. These are the victims of the violence that originates in Washington, in New York, in Los Angeles. Do you recognize the disenfranchised? Are you one of the victims? We are. We’re just another Jack and Jill in the crowd.
JILL: Look at what our so-called leaders have done to us. Look at the despair and suffering our leaders are responsible for. Look at the sickness of cynicism they’ve created. The dreams and hopes they had wantonly destroyed. Our leaders are systematically destroying America.
JACK: Look at the faces.
JILL: Look at the faces.
JACK: Look at the faces. Now do you understand why we are coming to get you? Do you see?… Just look at the faces. Look at what you have done. Look at the unspeakable crimes you have committed.
JILL: Jack and Jill have come to The Hill. This is why we’re here. Beware to all those who work and live in the capital, and attempt to control the rest of us. You’ve been playing with all of our lives—now we’re going to play with yours. It’s our turn to play. It’s Jack and Jill’s turn.
The film ended with striking images of masses of homeless people in Lafayette Square, right across from the White House. Then another poem, another warning rhyme.
Jack and Jill came to The Hill
On a grave and somber mission.
You’ve made them mad
The time’s so bad
To be a politician.
JACK: These are the times that try men without souls. You know who you are. So do we.
“How long does their little masterpiece run?” One of the television producers wanted an answer to the most practical of questions. CNN was supposed to be on the air live with the film in less than ten minutes.
“Just over three minutes. Seemed like forever, I know,” a technician with a stopwatch reported. “If you’re thinking about editing it down, tell me right now.”
I felt a chill after hearing the rhyme, even though the viewing room was warm. No one had left yet. The CNN people were talking among themselves, discussing the film, as if the rest of us weren’t even there. The talk-show host was looking pensive and troubled. Maybe he understood where mass communications was heading, and realized it couldn’t be stopped.
“We’re live in eight minutes,” a producer announced to his crew. “We need this room, people. We’re going to make dupes for all of you.”
“Souvenirs,” someone in the crowd quipped. “I saw Jack and Jill on CNN.”
“They’re not serial killers,” I said in a soft mumble, more for myself than anyone else. I wanted to hear what the thought, the hunch, sounded like out loud.
I was in the minority, but my belief was strong. They’re not pattern killers, not in the ordinary scene. They were extremely organized and careful, though. They were clever or personable enough to get close to a couple of famous people. They had a hang-up with kinky sex, or maybe they just wanted us to think so. They had some kind of overarching cause.
I could still hear their words, their eerie voices on the tape: “On a grave and somber mission.”
Maybe this wasn’t a game to them. It was a war.
CHAPTER