Obsessed With True Crime Novels & Stories

When I hired a private detective to investigate Amy's life, I never imagined that such terrible things would be discovered, worthy of a horror movie, in addition to the abuse suffered by her stepfather, she also witnessed the death of her mother who had been trying to protect her from the pedophile since that episode talkative girl just stopped talking.

What they did to those girls. “To think that I was wondering if he was in love with me. Not knowing he was nothing but a freaking stalker and kidnapper and murderer.” I run my hands through my wet hair. “It’s because I was blinded by the money. And the joy of finally dealing with that idiot, Jack.” I decide. All my problems always boil down to Jack at the center. The elevator door opens and I head straight for the front door to pull it open. “No. Open you damn piece of metal.” I bang on the door. “Open!”

There's a picture of mine that holding my phone and talking to someone, it's when I'm calling Emerald. Is my stalker obsess with me? I don't want to assume but why is he doing this, knowing that he can't get anything from me aside from humiliation. I'm such a trash... He should stop his crazy stalking. I pick up his note for me. "I CAN'T RELAX WHEN I DON'T SEE YOU BABY... I COULD TELL I'M OBSESS." He's leaving a letter that's not a help to find him. It's frustrating me that I don't even know a single thing to him as much as he do to me. I know that he know so much about now.

It gave me the chills. To match his diminished, almost dull demeanor, he spoke slower, and his voice had grown deeper, like I’d heard him the night before. Not only that, the way he described the cases, the kinds of things he said, everything about him screamed about a fixation with death that bordered obsession. But also about the path he’d chosen turning out to be so much more dangerous than what he’d ever expected. About considering to walk away, but knowing he was already in too deep to quit, because the power that came with fame and fortune was addictive and he wouldn’t give it up, even if it cost him his very soul.

"Because the right way, she can manipulate. Are we clear?" Lawrence stared at me. "I do this kind of work for people who can't afford mistakes." He closed the notebook. "It's my specialty." I didn't like the way that sounded, but I needed it. "One thing," he added. "I don't break in. I observe. I document. If there's a crime, it shows up in the pattern. If there isn't, you'll want to know that too." I nodded. "I want to know whatever the truth is," I replied.

The SUV tore through the Georgia backroads like a bullet, headlights cutting through the darkness. My hands shook as I clutched the phone, the message burning into my retinas. One of our sons — our flesh and blood — was in the hands of “The True Legacy.” The other slept fitfully in the carrier beside me, tiny fists clenched as if he could already sense the danger. Matteo’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. “They want you alone,” he said, voice low and deadly. “They think they can separate us.”

I want you to come to our final union as my bride. 'Three more days, my love. Three more days until we're united forever.' 'Eternally yours, Damien' I felt sick. The casual way he talked about murder, about stealing my life, about this twisted version of love he'd convinced himself was real—it was beyond disturbing. "He's completely insane," I said quietly. "He's obsessed," Maya corrected. "And obsession can be more dangerous than insanity. Insane people are unpredictable. But obsessed people follow patterns, fixate on specific goals."

I gawked at her, “What is it to you, Rose? You don't even like him; this is just some crazy obsession that you have.” Veins bulged on her forehead and neck, pulsing with rage. Her gaze was venomous, “You know the worst thing about having an obsession? If I don't have him, nobody can.” I stood up to her, "That obsession - would kill you."

Across the city, Pamela isn't sleeping either because the investigation stopped being a hobby a long time ago and stopped being simple curiosity not long after that, becoming something else entirely. The photographs remain spread across her dining table while her untouched dinner grows cold beside them, and although her phone keeps vibrating with calls and messages from friends, she ignores every single one because she can't stop staring at the same photographs, the same timelines, and the same pieces of evidence, searching for something she can't even define anymore. The obsession is starting to consume her, and deep down she knows it, but that's the problem—she can't stop. Hours later, I'm

Then he changed the subject. "How much time are you spending on the investigation?" I looked at him. He never asked about the investigation. I was the one who started it, because he handled the investigation. "What do you mean?" I looked at him. "Exactly what I said. You're in meetings all day. You're on the phone with Maya constantly. You're not sleeping." "I'm fine." I said, casually. "You're not fine. You're obsessed." I stared at him. "Someone threatened my son, Ethan. Someone took a picture of him at school. Someone followed him to his new school. I'm not obsessed. I'm trying to keep him safe."