His voice was as gentle as his touch. It was like a soft breeze on a bright summer day. It sent tingles up and down my spine.\n\n[[Back|Start]]
1st Picture\n\nA yearbook photo of him standing with a group of friends, smiling brightly at the camera. The face of someone who doesn't know what's coming his way.\n\n 2nd Picture\n\nDean sitting slumped in a chair, obviously unconsious.\nHis eyelashes creating little black crescents on his fair foreign skin.\nHis eyes closed , giving his face a serene calm. As if he was at peace. As if he were [[dead already|Last Victim]].
His grizzly crimes meant nothing to me. His lust for red, pulsing blood didn't [[scare|Scare]] me. His bright pink hands that he'd spent hours scrubbing didn't make me cower from his [[touch|Touch]]. And when he [[spoke|Spoke]], I didn't cover my ears to keep from hearing his words or [[remorse|Remorse]] and [[regret|Page regret]]. I [[loved him|Loved Him]], and I will continue to do so til my last, dying breath.
He didn't mean to do it. He doesn't want to hurt other people, let alone take their life. He's helpless to his condition. \n\n[[Back|Start]]
He had once told me that if he couldn't help his condition, he'd atleast do his [[victims|Targets]] a favour by making their death fast and painless.\n\nHe used various methods. Mostly he gave them a sleeping pill or drugged their drinks with rohypnol or scopolomine so they wouldn't wake up. He'd later bring the body back to the old barn in the back, drain their blood and take their body to a location close to where he first stalked and preyed on them. He said doing so made it easier for the family members of the victim to find the [[body|Last Victim]] and get some closure.
He had commited many [[murders|number of murders]]. \n\nHis last one was on November 15, 1992.\nVictim was a Chinese man that went by the name of Dean Chun.\nA rather handsome young man in his early twenties , with high cheekbones and a face that held intelligence and a hidden spark. He had showed me Dean's [[photos|Dean's photo]]. \n\nBut I don't think he knew I didn't need him to show me Dean's photos to know what he looked like. Dean's smiling face and easy-going personality was burned into my memory. I had known him for a very [[long time|my connection to dean]]. \n\nDean's [[death|dean's death]] was the only death out of the 27 others that affected me in a negative way and had I known of my capablities , I would've controlled my [[frustration|rage and frustration]] and yes, the [[rage|rage and frustration]].
The colour of the sea after the storm. Silently pleading with me to believe his [[words|Remorse]]. But his eyes. His eyes showed me he [[loved me|Loved Me]].
20 years later, I sit here, reminsiciing my memories of my first and last love. The one I'd vowed to love and protect in this life and the one beyond. Our words in synchronised , I'd looked into his eyes 30 years ago and saw hope for a future.\nI'd protected him from his own demons and his strong arms had protected from the evil in the world.\n\nHis grizzly crimes meant nothing to me. His lust for red, pulsing blood didn't scare me. I didn't cower from his soft touch. I didn't cover my ears to keep from hearing his gentle words. I promised to love him unconditionally.\n\nBut I'd failed. I failed to fulfill that promise. I failed him while he did everything to fully win me over. He was a gentle man with a tangled mind that was in shambles but he still tried to correct and straighten his thoughts to please me. He was an empathetic man, a man who didn't want to hurt anyone. \nAnd He loved me.\n\nBut I loved him too.\nI did.\nI did.\nI did.
He was kidnapped when my husband had intoxicated him with chlorofoam. I hadn't realized I would be directly related to my husband's next victim. I hadn't realized that this one particular murder would be the turning point of our relationship. I hadn't realized anything as I heard his pick-up truck drive down to the barn.\n\n\nI now wish I [[had|Last Victim]]. \n\n
I fought him. Screamed at him. Lunged myself at him and tackled him to the ground. I cried my eyes out. All my anger and frustration drained out of me like water going down the drain. I clawed at his face, his beautiful face, his chest, the one I'd put my head on to listen to his heartbeat . I clawed at his arms, the ones that protected me from people like him and the taunts of the world.\n\nI scareamed into his face through snot and tears about Dean's significance in my life. I blamed him for not being normal and commiting such horrid acts. I blamed him for something he wasn't capable of controlling. I accused him of lying to me about his remorse and regret, that in reality he loved killing people because that's just the kind of monster he was. \n\nThrough all of this chaos, he was quiet. He didn't make a sound, let alone say a sentence in his defense. He simply looked at me , looked at us. Us , sitting on the ground facing each other, him holding my wrists away from his face, me breathing hard from all the fighting I did.\n\nHe had lossened his grip on my wrists now that my hands were no longer a threat to his face and he had slowly gotten up, bringing me up with him. He'd gone to the coat closet, gotten my winter coat, my purse and the car keys and put them into my hands.\n\n" Go", he said. \nJust a simple "go" without any explanation but I went. I turned around, unlocked the door, stepped outside and closed it behind me. As I was walking to the car, I felt a sudden urge to turn around. I felt as if I was leaving something behind and if I didn't hold it close at that moment, it would be lost forever.\n\nI turn around and I saw him, standing at the window , looking at me. Watching over me like he so often did when I was sleeping and he couldn't find peace in the darkness of the night. He smiled at me. A smile that told me everything would be fine. That WE would be fine. I turned around to go to my car and that was my biggest mistake.\n\nThe living room lights were casting his shadow on the ground of him standing at the window. I saw his shadow raise his hand , the hand which had his gun in it, cock the pistol and pull the trigger. BANG! went the gun and down went his frame. The legacy of the Humane Psychopath had ended.\n\nI got into my car and drove off. I didn't stop until his voice and eyes were fading out of my mind, replaced with exhaustion. \n\n[[The man I loved|man I loved]] had killed himself.
He loved me with a heart and passion that I didn't think most psychopathic murderers were capable of. I could hear it in his words when he said them. I could see it in his [[eyes|Eyes]] and I could hear it in his [[voice|Spoke]]. His words were true. But his actions. What about [[his actions|His Actions]]?
Loved him in every way a person could and should be loved. Loved him with all my being and gave him all the love I possesed within my small frame yet big heart. Loved him unconditionally. Regardless of his flaws and insecurites. Regardless of his condition that caused him to end other peoples' lives because of his addiction and craving. \n\nAnd you know what? He [[loved me|Loved Me]] too.
Run. That was the only thing on my mind.\nGet away from the monster I've been sharing a bed with for the past 10 years.\nForget about his previous apologies and forget about his helplessess. Just run.\nOut the door, down the driveway and don't stop til I get to an intersection.\nI stopped a cab and got in. The taxi driver must've seen my frenzied expression because he gave me a minute or two to gather myself. To get my thought process back in order. I told him to take me to the furthest hotel, somewhere downtown.\nOn the way there, I could feel some of my rage fading and being replaced with sadness and exhaustion. What had I done? Who had I left behind? Was it all worth it?\n\nIt wasn't even his fault though. He had no idea of the connection between me and Dean. \nIt was too late to turn back now. I had to keep going. \nI had to leave the [[man I loved|man I loved]] behind.
He killed [[people|People]]. He wanted to. He NEEDED TO. \nHe preyed on weak people because they were easier [[targets|Targets]].
He was my adopted brother. Except he himself didn't know it. Only I did and Mother. Ofcourse Mother knew. We'd raised him as our own and since we had a Chinese background ourselves, Dean didn't suspect a thing.\n\nLast thing I wanted for him was to die at my [[husband's hands|Last Victim]].
Not the way it scared most people or , rather, ALL people. \n\n[[Back|Start]]
Tall with a slim body.\nLong blonde hair.\nBright blue eyes, the colour of ice.\nPerfectly shaped lips with just the right amount of pout.\nI envied [[her|Romanian Victim]].
He had shown me the photos after Dean was buried.\nMy brother, the one I raised in my own arms, was buried in my backyard. He was drugged, kidnapped, cut, and drained. His blood was cooling in a dozen plastic blottles in my fridge.\n\nI had frozen, all my limbs were replaced with iron rods. I was no longer standing in the warmth of my living room but rather outside , in the chilly wind of November. The man standing before me was no longer my lover, my soulmate. He had morphed into the monster he actually was. \n\nHe had reached for me but I had backed away, cowering from his touch for the first time since I found out about his illness.\n\nWhat was I to [[do?|3 things to do]]
Asians. Chinese, Japanese, Thai, Indian, Pakistani \nEuropeans. Scandanavians, [[Romanian|Romanian Victim]]s, Polish, Irish, English. \nLatin Americans. Puerto Ricans, Mexicans , Brazilians, Colombians.\n\nAny group of people. \nHe wasn't racist. He didn't discriminate. He didn't even hate. \n\n[[Back|Targets]]
Should I have [[run?|run]] .\nShould I have [[fought?|fought]].\nOr should I have [[killed?|killed him]]
I had gripped my reading lamp in a death-hold. I wouldn't let it go no matter what happened. I wasn't intending on hurting him, let alone killing him. It just happened.\n\nI let out an animalistic cry, hurling myself at him. He was caught off guard and after rolling around on the ground for a while, I finally managed to be the one on top, straddling him.\n\nI screamed at him for making me live a life that was hell all in its self. I knew it wasn't true because he had loved me more than he loved himself. He had loved me more than anyone else ever could. I blamed him for his illness , which I knew was awful but I wanted to hurt him as much as he'd hurt me. Somewhere along the time I was screaming and going hysterical, he spoke.\n\n"I'm sorry", he said.\n\nAnd I lost it. I didnt't need his sorries ( I did. I did. I did). I didn't his "I love you"s ( I did. I absolutely did). But these thoughts didn't occur to me soon enough. I raised the lamp and brought it down on his head. I brought back up and back down again and again and again until I could no longer distinguish his beautiful features anymore. I bludgeoned him to death and kept at it until I felt all my anger seep out of my pores, snot and tears. \nI didn't feel anything. No remorse or regret at that time. I was empty of all emotion, and for the first time I felt finally at peace...even if it was for a little while.\n\nI dragged his body down to the barn with the chilly November wind whistling in my ear, taunting me for my actions and the trees ominously huddling and bending together to block my path, as if they were punishing me for murdering an angel in the form of the Devil. I buried him behind the barn and cleaned up the mess inside the house. I went upstairs into our room and picked out my favourite sweater of his. A black wool sweater with grey stripes that always smelt of him. I picked up all our photo albums , my clothes and went out to my car.\n\nCasting one last look at the house I had lived in for 10 years of my life, memories started trickling into my destroyed mind. I quickly started the car and drove off. I drove until the trickling of the memories had turned into a wave, then a flood and then a tsunami that threatened to destroy my dissarrayed mind altogether.\nA boatful of emotions filled inside of me, drowning me, suffocating me. Remorse, regret, anger, rage, guilt, frustration, sadness, sorrow, relief, loneliness, emptiness, filled inside of me. Each one filling up each part of my body. With peace no longer looking like a possibility in my life, I drove to the police station.\nI told the police officers in charge that [[I had killed the man I loved|man I loved]].
He wished he could stop his hands from doing something so awful. He wished he could overdose on his medicine to keep from craving his addiction of bright blood.\n[[Back|Start]]
His gentle, soft touch. So hesitant, so wary.\n\n[[Back|Start]]
Her name was Alexandra Vasile. A foreign exchange student studying psychology at the University of Toronto. He'd picked her out because she was appealing to his eyes. He apolgized to me later for his heartbreaking reason. But I could see why. She was absolutly [[beautiful|Beautiful]].\nHe'd killed her using a butcher knife. He tried to make it as [[painless|Ways he killed]] as possbible. He was a psychopath with emotions. A rather weird combination.
28 to be precise. He'd become known as the "Humane Psychopath" because he had mercy on his victims. Although that legacy ended after his [[28th murder|Last Victim]].
People of smaller frames.\nPeople with lower self-esteems.\n[[People|People]] that felt they didn't belong in this world.\nThe failures.\n\nHe tried to make their deaths [[painless|Ways he killed]]. He was human in that way.