Everybody knew that Jason wasn't quite right in the head. But no one had any idea that he was responsible for the disappearance of a slew of southern California coeds during the last few years. He had been a handyman - and a good one - at both USC and UCLA - until some of the female students got him fired for doing a little harmless peeping in and around the women's dorms and locker rooms.
When he got fired for the second time Jason vowed vengeance on college girls in general. He had inherited a bit of property in the sparsely populated high desert north of LA and he built a sort of underground bunker out back, well equipped with all manner of tools. And it was there that he began to take the beautiful young women he abducted.
He was careful to grab the women at different colleges, all around southern California, in the hope that the cops wouldn't be able to connect the dots.
And for quite a long time they didn't. Here are a few of the girls he held captive:
Tricia, a student at Cal State Northridge, paid her college bills by stripping at a seedy topless joint. Jason loved the way she'd whimpered and trembled every time he'd lifted the razor sharp awl and slammed it into the wooden crate he'd stretched her out on, only a millimeter or so from the juicy tits that paid her tuition.
Cindy was in her second year at Pasadena City College. When he caught her trying to escape, he'd had to take his belt to her. For four hours straight.
Jason grabbed Tamika late one night at a bus stop near Southwest LA College in south LA. He'd used a hand-held staple gun on her thighs and buttocks and her sensational breasts. He got so excited when he was forcing a pair of safety pins through her mahogany brown nipples, that he dropped the box they came in.
Jason's dog 'Killer' helped keep his captives in line. Ellen had been a cheerleader at Cal State Fullerton. When she called him a psycho, he'd strung her up upside down and rubbed a half-pound of raw liver all over her breasts. He had put Killer on a chain just long enough so that the Doberman could leap at Ellen's meat-soaked mounds with his fangs bared, but fall an inch or two short. But Ellen didn't know that. He left her alone with Killer all night, and the ravenous Dobie must have flown at her red-stained nude body a couple hundred times.
If she hadn't been in that bunker, they could have heard her screams in Bakersfield.