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“You’ve saved us. You’ve saved me. He can’t come after us. I don’t have to be afraid. He’s dead and I love you. I love you more than I can ever say.”
Emotional touchstones in life create powerful memories that can live large again with a smell, a word, or a feeling.
“My name is Billy Cameron. You’re safe. It’s okay. Let me get us out of here and I’ll explain everything.”
Mayor Toscano was under investigation for awarding lucrative city contracts to businesses allegedly linked to organized crime
He hadn’t killed a murderer. He hadn’t killed a predator. It wasn’t going to save Ruth’s life. It was all for nothing. He had killed the wrong man.
“You told me it was him,” said Scott. When Ruth spoke again, her voice was soft and low. “I thought it was. I was sure. It looked almost exactly like him.” “Almost?” he said, turning toward her. “It was him. In my mind, it was him.”
I’m a retired captain. United States Marine Corps. I’m looking for a woman I met online. The same one you’re looking for, I’m guessing.”
victims don’t ordinarily get a press conference. But if you knock off someone from the mayor’s office, you can expect the full force of the law marshaled and sent in your direction with all speed.
the quivering strand of hair that hung in front of her face. It was a stunt, a deliberate and callous one to gain sympathy for Travers. To get people to react and cooperate with the investigation. It hurt the woman to talk about her husband.
Another policeman stepped to the lectern. He wore a suit. NYPD media manager Dan Puccini. Tall, with dark hair, a strong cut to his jawline, as if it had been chiseled out of a rock face. Blue eyes. Ruth moved forward to get a better look. Her eyes widened. Her body stiffened.
It felt like I was talking to someone who understood me. Someone going through the same kind of pain, with no resolution—no closure—no justice.
“What was the name of the man she told you to kill?” asked Amanda, her voice dry and cracked. “Frank Quinn,” said Billy softly, “but you already knew that.”
there’s no connection between Quinn and Benson, the man Kowalski killed.
Ruth was clearly having some kind of breakdown. She was imagining things—hallucinating. Her wounds were deeper and more terrible than he’d first realized.
Naomi, or in his case Felicia, hadn’t put the thought of murder in their heads; it was there already. All she did was use it.
“This picture. I looked him up online. I never found an image of Quinn like this.” He took the picture, stared at it. “That’s not Quinn, that’s Saul Benson, Kowalski’s victim.” Amanda felt a chill wash the back of her neck.
As President Trump gears up for the traditional Thanksgiving address tomorrow, commentators wonder if he might pardon more than just turkey this Thanksgiving, 2018.
Ok so if amanda is in the modern timeline, I am guessing ruth is really naomi, manipulating people to murder her assailant from all those years ago, but since she is delusional, they are actually all innocent look-alikes
Billy had already told her there was no link between Quinn and Benson, the victims targeted by Naomi, that is until you looked at pictures of them. They could’ve been brothers, separated at birth, they looked so strikingly similar.
There are two common responses: either they don’t want anyone to ever hurt like they do, or they want everyone to hurt like they do.”
This was different from the last time. The sense of calm and power that normally followed the kill was not there tonight. The warmth of peace had diminished. Already she could feel a presence outside. Somewhere in the city, Mr. Blue Eyes was alive and hunting her. She could sense him. Those blue eyes, searching for her.
Injustice and grief were her weapons, molded from love, regret, and sometimes even guilt.
Six men murdered in different parts of New York since Ruth’s release from Kirby Forensic Psychiatric Center.
And now there was a whole family taunting her. Telling her she was not safe. Not until they were dead.
Dr. Marin swung around in his chair. His eyes were wide and fixed on Amanda. “What was the name you just said?” he asked, almost in a whisper. “Dan Puccini.” “Oh my God,” said Dr. Marin, his fingers reaching for his lips.
She suddenly felt a little foolish that in all this time she’d never thought about doing this herself, in person. Watching the light die in those blue eyes.
With the online group sessions, Ruth made a point of never meeting her accomplices in person. It was safer that way. But she never trusted them as much as the ones she met in the real-life group therapy sessions.
Look, she’s dangerous. Amanda, I’ve grown very fond of you. I don’t want anything to happen to you—I’d never forgive myself.”
Wow at first I really liked Billy and thought he was so sweet, and a kindred spirit for Amanda, but dang going back I realize the whole time he was just manipulating her so he could eliminate Ruth.
That was why Crone hadn’t taken the subway to work that day. That was why he hadn’t shown up for his psychiatrist appointment. Ruth had made the call to the cops, got him arrested and off the street, then told Amanda she’d killed him.
His thumb and forefinger touched the eyeballs and then gently pinched, sweeping out the contact lenses. His brown eyes were gone. In their place, a pair of dead blue eyes stared through the gate at her.
Wth !!!! I had thought maybe he was somehow connected but his eye color threw me off and I didn't think he'd randomly wear contacts but omg so he's been Mr. Blue Eyes this whole time!!
“I should have killed you that night all those years ago. I don’t like loose ends. Because of you I had to leave New York.
I knew then I had to find you. You were hunting me, Ruth. And that is not something I can tolerate. I am no one’s prey.”
You were enjoying the kill. And you were killing again, and again and again, not in search of me. But for the pleasure. You know how it feels to end a life. You have tasted that sweetness.
“If you were to slip and fall again, I wouldn’t be there to catch you next time.”
“Crone’s dead.” “He’s what?” “A garbage man found him at four a.m. He’d been stripped naked and tortured, then somebody had thrown him into a dumpster.” “Jesus Christ,” she said, her heart fluttering. “There was a strong chemical smell off the body. Maybe chloroform. Looks like he was drugged before someone went to work on him.”
I want you to know that before Crone died, he admitted to killing your little girl. I thought you deserved that closure. It’s unlikely that we’ll meet again. Good luck, and enjoy the rest of your life, sweetheart.
It's weird how he's almost likeable . I'm kinda mad he turned out to be a secret serial killer cuz he seemed so sweet otherwise lol dang had me fooled

