"Affecting, tense, and smart true-crime."

Every Breath You Take

Simon & Schuster Audio

Preface

Author's Note

In my three decades of writing about actual crimes, only once have I beenpersonally involved in a case before I wrote about it. That, of course, was thestory of Ted Bundy, who had been my partner at Seattle's Crisis Clinic a fewyears before he was exposed as a merciless serial killer. During the years Iknew him, I had no more knowledge of the man behind the "mask" than anyone elsewho interacted with him. Indeed, I had a contract to write a book about anunknown killer ? my first book contract ? only to find out I would be writingabout my friend.

Now, twenty years after that almost incomprehensible coincidence, anothersingular circumstance has touched me, making this book much more than therecounting of a tragedy that echoes and re-echoes in the lives of so manypeople. In a sense, I was chosen by the victim herself to tell her story, eventhough we never spoke, never met, and when I read about her fate, I had noreason to believe that we had any connection at all.

Her name was Sheila Bellush, and she was the age of my daughters. Thepremonition that haunted her for the last ten years of her life finally foundher in Florida. Before that, she lived in San Antonio, Texas, and in Hawaii. Ihad never been to those places. My home territory has been the northwest sincethe mid-'50s ? Oregon and then Washington.

My father's lifelong wish was to have a homestead in Oregon, a house high on ahill that overlooked trees, fields, and rivers. He found his beloved forty acressouth of Salem, Oregon. For the last thirty years of their lives, my parentslived there on a ranch where the only sounds beyond the wind in the fir treeswere the cries of hawks and eagles and the occasional cougar. It was such anobscure part of Oregon that few people had ever heard of it. I never lived theremyself; I had long since moved up to Seattle.

Years after my parents were gone, but only two miles away from that ranch, ayoung couple found their perfect section of earth to build on. They werepatching together their lives after three years of horror and bereavement, and adecade of dread before that. The wife had a number of missions to accomplish,and one of them was to find me.

She was Sheila Bellush's sister. When we finally met, she told me that she hadtried many avenues to locate me, unaware of how easy it really was. Had she onlycalled information in Seattle, she could have obtained my office phone number.In January 2000 I received an e-mail signed with her name; I learned later itwas really her husband who wrote to me because his wife had grown discouragedwhen her efforts brought only dead ends.

Sheila's sister told me they were determined to try one last time, and then giveup because they didn't know where else to go. Fortunately, she found me on theInternet, and I wrote back to her immediately.

"Ten years ago," she said, "when Sheila ended her marriage, she told me, 'Ifanything ever happens to me, promise me that you will see that there is aninvestigation.'"

Her sister promised.

There was more: seemingly a throwaway remark said half in jest. It happened thatSheila Bellush was watching the miniseries of my book Dead by Sunset inthe fall of 1995. Recognizing something in the character of a man accused ofmurder, she called her sister Kerry Bladorn and asked her to turn on hertelevision set. "Remember what I told you about what to do if anything happenedto me?" Sheila asked, and Kerry said she did. "And now promise me one morething," Sheila said. "That if I'm not here, you will find Ann Rule and have herwrite my story."

Again Sheila's sister promised. I learned later that Sheila had asked a numberof her friends to find me if anything happened to her. And so I face an awesomeproject; I have been given a huge responsibility by a young woman who once readmy books. After so many years this is the first time a victim has chosen me totell the story of her life ? and death ? long before her premonition ofdisaster came true. I owe her the truth and the compassion of those who readthis book. I owe her a voice when she no longer has one.

For a long time I have felt a kind of "presence" of the people I write about,much in the way homicide detectives come to know the murder victims they striveto avenge. But never, never have I honored a commitment urgently foisted upon meby a woman who was a complete stranger, and who has become as familiar to me assomeone in my own family.

So this is for Sheila. I hope I get it right.

Continues...
Excerpted from Every Breath You Takeby Ann Rule Copyright © 2002 by Ann Rule. Excerpted by permission.
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