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I knelt between his outstretched legs and waited for him to put the knife on the ground to unzip his pants. As soon as he did, I snatched up the blade and slashed his neck with a single smooth movement. I’ll never forget the look of horror on his face as he frantically pressed his hands against the deep crimson that gushed relentlessly from the wound in his neck.
Well that monster got what he deserved
The boy survived, but my parents left me to rot in the Kim Arundel Psychiatric Hospital for the Severely Mentally Ill for the rest of the school year.
Wth you stab a twisted perve trying to assault you and you end up locked away?
My obsession with Hitler stemmed from the peculiar fact that the same monster who was responsible for sending millions of people to concentration camps was also a vegetarian who had a deep affection for his dog, Blondi.
on most days, I simply felt nothing—as if my inner world was a merciless desert devoid of even the slightest hint of life. Feeling that warm flicker inside me meant everything. Eventually I realized what it was: It was hope.
He conveniently didn’t address his own looks—or more the lack of them when compared to his pictures. Many of his kind were like this. Manipulative, dishonest, and yet with an air of entitlement, always prepared with an excuse to justify their self-serving actions.
The cleaning detergent used oxygen instead of chlorine. It was a fairly new cleaning product that erased all traces of hemoglobin, the oxygen-transporting protein in blood that was crucial in forensic tests.
I noticed something flickering in his pitch-black pupils. Hate. Rage. Lust for pain. Ah, the crude savage. Among the myriad of killers, I detested his kind the most, with their raw ferocity and absence of finesse.
Tim’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he removed his hand from my neck and pushed himself into a sitting position. Disbelief was written all over his face as he struggled to process the situation unfolding in front of him. “What…what’s so funny?” I just kept laughing, gasping for air, my chest heaving up and down.
Omg this part reminds me of a weird dream I had years ago. A guy had me pinned on my bedroom floor with his hand around my throat, and I suddenly burst out laughing and wouldn't stop. It was creepy
You need the screaming to feel powerful, don’t you? But the truth is, there’s nothing powerful about you.”
“Then you’ll tell me where the bodies of Kimberly Horne and Janet Potts are.”
It’s a tragedy, but once drugs are involved, law enforcement agencies perceive the victim as less significant and are less diligent in their pursuit of justice.”
“You didn’t bring enough tape. So I had to cut through your lumbar spine intervertebral space, leaving you paralyzed from the waist down.”
“I know death,” I said in a raw tone. “That haunting stillness that takes over when the last flicker of light leaves the eyes. It’s beautiful and terrifying at the same time.”
It’s ironic, but in some fucked-up way, you can feel more than I can.” It was empathy for humans and sometimes animals that antisocial personalities like him lacked. I could feel plenty of that for normal people and animals. But when it came to feeling intense emotions, I was utterly incapable.
Tim continued sobbing. If I hadn’t seen his work in the FBI’s files, I would have felt pity for him. But a monster like this didn’t deserve sympathy.
it was the shadow of my severe alexithymia, not the Savant syndrome, that cast a deeper veil over my ability to experience emotions and connect with others.
I played in Boston—nowhere else—and my concerts were sold out two full years in advance.
They included my renditions in the study, and the results were mind-blowing. I stood alone as the only pianist who came close to matching a computer's precision. No one else had achieved my speed and accuracy. Nobody.
I could bring my audience from tears to laughter in seconds. And yet…I was a fraud. A crook. A swindler. As I felt absolutely nothing when I played.
Yet playing the piano had saved me. I learned more about emotions through music than I ever did interacting with people or during the countless, dull years I’d spent in therapy.
Tony and Liam belonged to the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI, a department dedicated to profiling and investigating serial criminals like killers, arsonists, and rapists.
“This is a BAU now—you can leave too. Violent Gang Unit has no business here.”
Lol
I could stab a murderer without flinching, but the thought of clutter made me physically ill. Throughout the years, I’d learned to limit my obsession with orderliness to my personal spaces rather than allowing the chaos of other people’s lives to affect me. It made life easier—especially
I dressed in black designer pants, no panties, and slipped into a cream-colored silk shirt.
Wth no panties?
My wardrobe consisted strictly of black, cream or white, and red, with most pieces made from cashmere or silk.
she had made it her quest to destroy the man she had cheated on.
Sara had brazenly requested that he ignore her affair while acting like nothing was wrong. And when Liam mustered the remnants of his dignity and packed his bags, Sara’s fury erupted, transforming him into her number-one enemy. In the aftermath, she’d claimed their house, savings, and stocks, and even the damn cat that Liam had come to love but lost in the end as well.
Did he not have a lawyer who could fight for him cuz she is the unfaithful one. Why should she have everything?
It’s only unusual because it was Leah’s concert. She’s never late.” “What time did the concert start?” “Shortly after she arrived. Around 9:50.” “Close to the time my lady in red vanished,” Liam mumbled.
Expressionless, the woman stood still, staring at Liam like a lion staring at its prey. It was the strangest thing. Did she know him? “Liam! You kidding me? You there?”
Mrs. Harris, who appeared completely unfazed by the most heart-wrenching news a mother could ever receive.
“I thought he was into men until I overheard those horrendous, dirty videos he watched at night on his computer. Those were women screaming, not men. I told him if he ever watched something unholy in my house again, I would have the Lord’s blessing to cut it off.”
Lmao
“You wanna know who killed my son?” Mrs. Harris exhaled a cloud of smoke and looked them dead in the eye. “The devil did.”
Haha I knew this was coming
“Fantasies that need further investigation,” Liam said, nodding at the action figures on Greg’s desk. On the female ones, the breasts had been cut off and the private areas burned, as evidenced by the warped plastic.
An ice-cold lightning bolt struck Liam as he looked at the close-up of a woman’s privates—covered in blood.
“The crime scene looks like Jack the Ripper and Dahmer had a psychopathic child who went on a murder spree!” Larsen barked, pulling me from my thoughts. “I guess I got carried away.” “Carried away?” His outrage echoed through the air. “Carried away? The man was carved out like a damn jack-o’-lantern!” “So was Samantha Hayden.”
Wait so the head honcho knows she did it ? Did he tip her off?
Larsen and I had worked together effectively for years, taking out quite a few monsters while adhering to strict rules and guidelines.
Not many people are interested in bringing a killer’s killer to justice.”
The Train Track Killer—a son of a bitch indeed. Throughout the years Larsen and I had worked together, he had remained the one serial killer who kept eluding us. He was as brilliant as they came, his methods ingenious.
Psychopaths like myself often found comfort in lust and sexual pleasure, experiencing it intensely. However, unlike those monsters with their violent fantasies, I was fascinated by the intimacy of a loving, monogamous relationship.
“You are Ms. Nachtnebel, I assume?” “It’s a stage name, but yes, I am.” “I didn’t know it was a stage name. What’s your real name?” “Miller,” she replied, her expression unchanging. “Like the beer. But the people who attend my concerts generally aren’t the sort of crowd who would appreciate associating Bach with a beer.”
“A map?” He glanced over his shoulder. She was staring right at him, a certain satisfaction in her eyes.
She watched in utter shock as I remained unflinching, emotionless, as if I were a soulless doll, feeling absolutely nothing. Of course I felt the physical pain, but what use was there in screaming or crying? The pain would fade, as it always did.
Even my entrance into this world was peculiar: without a single sound, nor did I ever cry after that.
The intimate and raw moments of the woman mourning her daughter had stirred something deep within me: an empty flicker accompanied by a subtle ache in my throat. I’d never experienced emotions like this before.
Fueled by the three Ds of success—determination, dedication, and discipline—this man lived for his beliefs and would readily sacrifice himself for them. I couldn’t help but think that if he made it his task to destroy me, he might succeed.
The night before Kelly’s body was struck by a commercial train north of New York, she had managed to send a text to her sister that read, Help he kill me. Such a message was hardly the kind of farewell one would expect from a suicide victim.
I had never had a preference in escorts before.
“And that’s why you’ll be more useful from behind. Men usually are.” “Oh my God.” I didn’t have to turn around to see his beaming grin. “Did Leah Nachtnebel crack a dirty joke?” I let out a playful sigh and continued walking. To my surprise, as much as his, Emanuel’s unwavering loyalty and infectious optimism occasionally coaxed out a lighter, more playful side of me.
