The book details her interactions with the medical staff and the progression of her condition; tests and more tests, appointments with different consultants and doctors and ultimately time spent in hospital. However, alongside all the medical issues is the story of the love and support of her children, family and friends which makes this book so special. You are my sunshine will make you laugh and cry, it will move you and inspire you to be your best and to be there for others. 'My advice to each and everyone is not to leave it till it's too late, treasure your friends and family, don't leave it to tell people that you love them, make time for people who you care about; I guarantee that your life will be enriched and happier if you do. People can surprise you in all manner of fantastic ways!'

    Visit the Tian Tan Buddha, Tai O, Victoria Peak, Chi Lin Nunnery, Victoria Harbor, Statue Square, the ruins of St. Paul’s, Guia Fortress, and other famous spots.

    It’s a savage journey that takes Mark from Los Angeles to the Amazon — through Mexico and Guatemala and Honduras, through Nicaragua and Costa Rica and Panama, through Colombia and Ecuador and Peru. On his ride into the dark south of the Americas: a failed revolution, a spewing volcano, a drawer of cocaine; and a surreal succession of encounters with an assortment of characters normally avoided — Scientologists and shamans and narcos. He risks his freedom, his sanity, his life. By the end, he at last finds a point to it all: he goes far to find…

    Pistone infiltrated the mob and brought it down. Now, he brings his experience to a series of novels that takes readers deep inside a covert FBI operation.In Mobbed Up, Donnie Brasco takes on both the Russian and Italian mobs. But this time it's not his life on the line...it's his daughter's.

    Sapp, a seemingly normal family man who shattered the peace of an idyllic Midwestern town.

    Drews unfolds the drama brilliantly, right through to the sentencing of the husband to a life in prison and even an afterword from the mistress apologizing years later. Sent to prison, the husband and mistress still can't let go and she becomes a prison bride.Readers are left to decide for themselves if it was murder, suicide, or manslaughter by neglect. Run at Destruction is lust, murder, and obsession delivered with the beat of a runner's heart, as the theme of running is woven throughout. The book grabs at a large cross-section of readers because everyone can relate to the desire and often disaster that comes with affairs.This is true-crime court drama and author Drews exposes the characters to such a depth that readers will feel like they are reading a novel, only, this really happened.

    Names like Bundy, Gacy, and Gein come to mind, alongside the many other murderous people out there who've gained notoriety because of their evil. When you're envisioning the unthinkable and heinous acts that are carried out in this world, it's unlikely you imagine a youngster as being a perpetrator of evil.Killer children, although rare, do exist. The thought alone is terrifying; we see children as being vulnerable and pure, which makes it harder to comprehend them wanting to inflict pain and suffering on another being. The correlation of a child and unthinkable acts of murder is undeniably tricky to compute.The children in this book carried out acts of savage murder - even just typing that sentence feels wrong. Some of these murders are sexually motivated; some are carried out for revenge; others are part of an occult ritual. Regardless of the motivation for these children to commit unspeakable acts of cruelty, they are all disturbing.This book was written to give you some food for thought, to allow you to digest some of the heinous crimes committed by youngsters and consider why they'd carry out such horrific acts. This book will open up a world of questions, many of which I've likely pondered upon myself. While I do offer up my own opinion throughout this book, I do need to (as much as possible) stick to the facts to let you make your own mind up.With that in mind, let's delve into some of the despicably horrific murders that were carried out by children.

    Instead, their father showed up with a small bag of cold French fries and said their mother had gone away. Ann's children didn't believe it. Neither did her friends. And neither did the police. But there was zero evidence that anything had happened to Ann.No Body...Los Angeles detectives dug furiously into the case, grilling John Racz and searching for clues. But without a body, the investigation stalled, and three children grew up wondering what had happened to their loving mother-and if their father had killed her.And A Killer In Plain Sight...Fourteen years later, a brilliant female prosecutor defied the legal establishment and delved into the cold case, uncovering shocking information about Ann and her relationship with John. Suddenly, a crusading prosecutor was up against the most difficult kind of murder case of all: to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that John Racz had murdered his wife-despite the fact that her body was never found...With 16 pages of photosDon Lasseter has authored a dozen true crime books, more than fifty magazine articles, and a book about WWII airmen downed in France and rescued by the Resistance. His best seller is Die for Me (Pinnacle, 2000) a chronicle of crimes by California serial killer Charles Ng. Lasseter's television appearances include several talk shows and crime documentaries on A&E's "American Justice and Biography," Court TV, the Discovery Channel, and CSPAN's Book TV. He is a resident of Orange County, California.

    His girlfriend, Tracie Andrews, claimed he had been murdered in a road rage attack and, days later, appeared at a press conference making an emotional appeal for witnesses to the crime. During the days following the attack, the horrific truth about what really happened that night became apparent. It was Tracie who had killed Lee and then tried to cover her tracks with a web of lies. In this compelling and harrowing book, Maureen shares the turmoil of a bereaved mother trying to come to terms with the brutal murder of her son while at the same time fighting to bring his killer, who she had welcomed into her home, to justice. She also reveals little-known facts about the investigation and speaks of how her shattered family came through their grief and began to rebuild their lives.

     She was a gifted midwestern beauty, the daughter of Ohio State University's marching band director: to dance on Broadway. Soon after high school graduation, Catherine left Columbus for New York City, determined to be a star. Three years later, she was dead -- murdered in cold blood in her East Side apartment. The shocking revelations that emerged from the police investigation made tabloid headlines: few knew that the struggling artist paid her bills by dancing in a topless club. But there was another hidden facet to Catherine's life -- a shattering love triangle with two men, one of whom would ultimately be convicted of her brutal stabbing death. It's a chilling account of obsession, violence, and the surprising, minute evidence on which the entire case hinged. For a talented young woman reaching for the top, and the heartbroken family she left behind, it is truly the death of a dream.

     As a child, I was known as "Jessica Pelley." When I was nine, I went to a sleepover at a friend's house for the weekend. While I was away, my entire family was murdered. I would spend the next 30 years fighting, crawling, and clawing my way through the darkness. This wasn't just a national news headline, a cold case, or a true crime show. It was my family. And my life. I was the broken little girl left behind to tell this story. I am now "Jessi," in the pages of this unapologetic memoir, set free. *** JESSI - APRIL 29, 2016 April 29, 1989. A date I cannot forget. Numbers forever seared deep into my soul. It was 27 years ago, today. Jesus. Get a grip, Jessi. They’re just numbers. They don’t mean anything. You’re giving them power over you, again. That’s what I tell myself. But the numbers—those damn numbers—they haunt me. They always will. I cannot escape them. Not now. Not ever. For most people, dates are just numbers on a calendar. No big deal. Random markers of time affixed to the top left corner of small, white squares on a page to depict days filled with choices, chances, and opportunities. At least that’s what they are for the normal people. But I’m no longer one of them. For me, they serve as numeric reminders of the girl I used to be. A tragedy that would irrevocably and mercilessly alter the life of a little girl wearing dark blue jeans, canvas lace-up sneakers, and a white tee shirt, accessorized by prominent coke bottle glasses, her hair hanging in a messy bob. Her life would be forever dismantled. Gone. The moment they told me the words. The ones that I will never forget. At that moment, my life froze and shattered into pieces, splintering like bits of broken glass, dropping down onto the ground around me, like the remnants of a cracked windshield, falling fast before the spinning mind and broken heart of a wide-eyed little girl. Life, as I knew it, was over in that moment. What happened on April 29, 1989, has scarred me forever. A day that started out normally, before it became ensnared in marred memories, tucked between folds of tragedy and darkness. The lingering memories cut straight to the core of the hollow girl left behind. The darkness delivers itself to me, every year, on schedule. Steadily. Greedily. On the 29th day of April. Relentless. Haunting. It taunts the pieces of me that remain. Every single year. I try to lift myself out of the darkness. I tell myself the numbers shouldn’t matter. Not after 27 years have passed. Jessi, It’s just another day. You can do anything you want with it. Don’t slip into the darkness. But not even the voice in my head believes those lies I tell myself. Year after year, my happiness recoils, my thoughts run to a dark place filled with foggy memories and a void that swallows me whole. The door of despair opens and I’m trapped: alone, numb to the bone, emotionally deplete, void of all reality, space, and time. I hate the helplessness as I slip further into that dark place. A place that, long ago, was filled with light. A place where three little girls would sing happy songs, pick flowers, hold hands while skipping through tall blades of grass, and sit down at the dining room table, where they would bow their heads to pray before plates filled with food, in a home filled with laughter. Then it hits me—the life-defining, self-inflicted images of horror—of their final moments—dragging me deep into the darkness.