The Stranger Beside Me

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THE DEFINITIVE WORK OF AMERICAN TRUE CRIME FROM “AMERICA’S BEST TRUE-CRIME WRITER” (Kirkus Reviews)

Utterly unique in its astonishing intimacy, as jarringly frightening as when it first appeared, Ann Rule’s The Stranger Beside Me defies our expectation that we might surely know if a monster lived among us, worked alongside of us, appeared as one of us. With a slow chill that intensifies with each heart-pounding page, Rule describes her dawning awareness that Ted Bundy, her sensitive coworker on a crisis hotline, used to be one of the crucial prolific serial killers in The us. He would confess to killing at least thirty-six young women from coast to coast, and used to be eventually executed for three of those cases. Drawing from their correspondence that endured until shortly before Bundy’s death, and striking a seamless balance between her deeply personal perspective and her role as a crime reporter on the hunt for a savage serial killer — the brilliant and charismatic Bundy, the man she thought she knew — Rule changed the course of true-crime literature with this unforgettable chronicle.
Not long ago, true crime author Ann Rule recalls lying on an operating table. The anesthesiologist leaned over before putting her to sleep. “Ann,” the anesthesiologist said softly, “tell me, what used to be Ted Bundy truly like?” Despite meeting Florida’s electric chair in 1989, the subject of Rule’s bestselling book continues to haunt her. Rule and Bundy were friends. They met in 1971 at a Seattle crisis clinic, where they shared the late shift answering a suicide hotline. Their subsequent conversations, meetings, and letters spanned the remainder of Bundy’s life as he evolved into one of the most century’s most notorious serial killers. It’s been 20 years since Rule first penned this chilling account. But the story–and her 2000 update–will still have readers reaching for their Xanax. No gratuitous gore here; just the basic, bone-chilling evidence. In truth, like a protective mother shielding us from horrors too awful to mention, Rule seems to avoid delving too deeply into crime scene descriptions. She devotes one paragraph in her new afterword to her discovery that Bundy engaged in necrophilia and returned to the scenes of his crimes to “line dead lips and eyes with garish makeup and to put blush on pale cheeks.” She tells readers that John Hinckley, who shot Ronald Reagan, and David Berkowitz, the Son of Sam Killer, traded prison correspondences with Bundy. And she hints that Bundy’s insatiable killer instincts may have started when he used to be a 14-year-old paperboy. (Ann Marie Burr, an 8-year-old girl on his route, mysteriously disappeared in the course of the night and has never been found.) The skimpy update is over too soon, leaving readers wanting more and offering further proof of the public’s never-ending fascination with serial killers. –Jodi Mailander Farrell

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