Is it just me who loves a good serial killer plot? I seem to be drawn to the stories of these people.
Ted Bundy grabbed some of his victims by pretending to be injured. A broken winged bird, leading his prey away from the crowd. I think of Ann Rule working next to the charmer, and never knowing his true identity.
I think of all the times I did something really stupid hanging out in bars, meeting new people, and making horrible choices. I was the girl in the slasher movies that decides to go to the basement to check out the creaking noises that has to be an open window letting in the rain. But it’s not in the movies. Thankfully the window was causing the sound in real life.
I’m too young to tell you where I was when Kennedy was shot; instead, I know when they arrested Jeffrey Dahmer. It was the morning after I had gall bladder surgery.
When I visited my sister in coastal California, driving the week away trying to figure out what I was going to do with my newly divorced life, a serial killer was stalking and killing women in the exact area where I took long walks, alone.
He, too, was visiting from Idaho – after they arrested him in California, local law enforcement dug up what appeared to be his first kills on a farm in a small town north of my home.
Maybe I’ve outgrown my fascination with these villains. Now, I rarely watch the news, tired of hearing about the shootings and drug related crimes. Now, I like my murder off the page. Like in a cozy mystery.
What about you? True Crime or cozy mystery? Or somewhere in between?