I Am Not A Serial Killer Novels & Stories

There is no rhyme or reason to such an act. ‘People do strange things in the heat of the moment, sir.’ ‘Don’t I know that already Navpreet ...’ said the inspector thoughtfully. He crossed his legs and took a deep breath. ‘Twenty-six years since I joined the police force, there is very little left for me to see. And one thing I have learnt – murder is an amateur’s crime. Of course, I am talking about the regular cases, not serial killers or gangsters. Murderers, they are ordinary people like you and me ... with just one difference. Their common sense has been trumped by their desire for love, freedom, money or power. It is usually one of these. And suddenly, they see a shortcut, a shorter rou

I am his best friend who has been in love with him for fifteen years when I should be using this time to get over him. I patted the sofa, dusted the shelves and put my books in a row. I am a bibliophile and a strong one at that. Sherlock Holmes and Augustus Dupin are by far my most favourite ones, me being a fan of mystery thrillers. I am such an addict of criminal profiling that I actually have list and screenshots of wanted criminals or serial killers on my phone. Serial killings were always my favourite ones, as they have something In common and it always piqued my curiosity as to why there are still serial killers like Jack the Ripper or Stripper on lease. I guess not

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN In Which the Murderer Becomes a Hero This is what Peter the Murderer thought: “Wow, what horrible, painful screams. It reminds me of the good old days. That is certainly a woman who wants to survive. Mmm, how lovely.” He thought, “How unusual for somebody else to be on my turf. I certainly don’t like it. I just might need to hunt this other person down and have a frank, yet gentlemanly discussion, on what one does and doesn’t do when an active serial killer has laid claim to a specific area.”

I take a moment to take it all in. “Hi” I say awkwardly as we pull away from each other. I was always an awkward child, maybe that’s why I never met another man. At thirty-one, I’ve only met the bad seeds. Never the good guys, I’m hoping Bradley is one of the good guys and not a serial killer who’ll chop my body into pieces, distribute my body parts into different garbage bags and have the bags placed in different garbage pick ups so they can never track him. Okay so I’m guilty of being a true crime fan. I can’t help myself.

If you killed him I swear...” “You will what!?” He shot back at me cutting me off as he came even closer, I leaned back further into the ground in fear “I really do not see what you all see in him, he is a common rouge, a gangster” “And you are a serial killer” I had no idea why I was attacking him, I knew antagonizing him was wrong but I could not help myself, I knew he had done something to Aryan and I felt like hitting him or something

She pouted, making her green eyes look all sad and shit. "Oh." Then it clicked cause her eyes lit up. "Wait, that guy who's into the fucked-up minds of serial killers, like you?" She said it like it was a hobby, like collecting stamps or something, not delving into the twisted minds of psychos. This guy had claimed all the theories about serial killers, like Bundy and the like, were bullshit. No connection between the evil they did and their grey matter. Just monsters who got off on hurting others, nothing more, nothing less. Sounded like an arrogant prick, but I'd let him keep thinking whatever he wanted. He didn't know shit about my world, about why I really left Russia. A secret I kept cl

I stopped, frowning, “ You are not some sadistic serial killer, are you?” “If I were a serial killer, would I tell you?” “Good point. I’m going to let my friends know,” I say, rising up from my seat.

“It sounds bad. Random guy shows up, stands near a dead body, refuses to explain himself. I get it. Not my best first impression.” Quinn didn’t blink. He glanced briefly toward the body, then back at her, like he couldn’t help himself. “It’s just... this case doesn’t make sense,” he added, words coming faster now. “No forced entry, no visible injuries, nothing disturbed. That doesn’t happen. Not like this. People don’t just die neatly... unless it's a serial killer?” Quinn’s eyes narrowed slightly. “That information isn’t public.” “I didn’t say it was,” he shot back, then immediately winced like he realized how that sounded. “Okay, that came out wrong.”

Okay, so now I have to find the lair of a psychotic serial killer that lived over a hundred years to ‘discover my true self. Damn, I hate this town.

Over the years, I've met all kinds of guys — yes, often in the biblical sense—and this one confused me. In a good way, though. He was intriguing. A challenge. he obviously was excited, but I'd rather talk about hawks or serial killer statistics than ertar. And funnily enough, he looked pretty sexy when he lectured in that husky voice he it was more suited to a stage than a classroom. “Serial killers generally kill for personal gain,” he continued, “not for the sake of it. thrill of killing, and his victims are familiar people rather than complete