A/N: Thanks for all the reviews, as always, I enjoy reading them and appreciate them all. The feedback is great and helps the progression of my writing. I hope you continue to enjoy this story as much as I enjoy writing it.

I see you're back again. Can't keep away can you? It's me, I'm the star of this story, but my biggest guess is, you want to know what I did to Olivia Benson; how I remained in her life oh so secretly. Well, it's your lucky day, because I feel like sharing another snippet of my story.

I spent a night at Olivia's fire escape, I smiled when she took out my letter; 'Dearest Olivia.'. She couldn't help herself, I was the one person who'd really haunt her, for now at least, I was a memory, the boy that got away. I was most likely a creepy reminder of a case that was desperate to go cold.

Anyway, I'm losing track of myself here, so after my night on the fire escape I found a someone named Buzz. Not Lightyear, he was called Buzz because he was always buzzed off his face on drugs. Buzz took me to his pad, I ran drugs for him, and pawned anything he could make money from. In turn, he put a roof over my head, and fed me. I used my wages to buy books on forensic anthropology, biology, and even a couple of medical surgical books. It was all part of my plan; for a kid, I earned over three hundred dollars a week, which is more than most people's first jobs. Who am I kidding, I kicked ass getting that job, I know people who earn less than that in a month.

I saved up my money and found a little apartment, it was shit. The inside smelt like the old people who lived there before me, and the pungent smell of Chinese food creeped up through the floorboards and sickened me daily, but it was home. The only place I could call home.

On my day off, April eighteenth, I ventured to my old house. The place was still a shit hole, only now it was boarded up, old police tape and crime scene tape flapped in the wind. The red tape that warned off potential burglars was still unbroken, or sealed however you want to put it. One swift kick of the door swung the pointless piece of wood straight in. It was weird going back there, everything was still in it's place, nothing seemed out of place. Dishes were still piled high in the sink, garbage bags were still where I'd dropped them the day I'd found my mother. I trotted up the stairs almost with a feeling of happiness in me. Strange, as I was never happy in this God forsaken house. I kicked open my bedroom door, my room was the only room that looked like a bomb had hit it. Clearly the time I'd spent working, Olivia and Elliot and whoever else, had torn my room apart. Then I saw it. A square of dustless desk; my good old '97 was gone. I smirked remembering how it had died, it had gone to heaven the day my scum of a mom went to hell.

I had a feeling the house would be watched, it seemed pretty obvious after my letter that Olivia would want to talk to me, other than the John's, I was the only other suspect. I packed up my clothes, some of my old junk and slung it carelessly into a garbage bag. I stripped the room of me, there was nothing to say I even existed in that house after I'd been there. I was like a tornado that day, ripping everything, tossing all of my worthless shit around the room and finally, I became the clean up team. I pulled up the carpet in the right corner of the room, I pulled until I got to the middle of the room, then slammed my foot down hard on a very specific floorboard. I caught it as it flew into the air, a trick I'd learned years ago; I chucked it, I wasn't here for destruction, I'd come for something very important. I'd found it only minutes after I'd first set eyes on Olivia. I knew she'd want it, I knew it would help make and or break the case, but she'd have to come to me for it. My mom's little black book.

I knew they were watching me, the NYPD failed with their surveillance, a black camera, no wires attached sat buried in my desk. I flashed the camera a smile before speaking only one sentence.

"Catch me if you can."

Looking back it was the most stupid thing to say, I implemented myself as guilty in five words. Back then I wasn't bothered, I was pissed Olivia hadn't found me to talk to me yet, so I knew it was time to start making my move. I had to capture her attention. I imagine the conversation to have gone like this when they saw me on the camera. They being Olivia and Elliot of course.

"He's there."

"What?"

"He turned up at the house, he's ransacked it, but that's definitely him."

"You sure Liv?"

"Positive, he knows we're watching the house, he's holding something up to the camera."

"It's a book."

You know it would've been Elliot pointing out the fucking obvious.

"That's not just any book Elliot, that's a little black book."

"His mother's."

"That's what I'm guessing."

Then Elliot would have called me some choice words, then they would've devised a plan to catch me, only, I'd have been long gone by then, and there wouldn't be any trace of me. Like the wind, heard on occasion, the damage could be seen, but the thing itself, invisible.

I hid that book, I wasn't stupid enough to hide it under the floorboards again. I took it to Casa de Buzz, once there I hid it in his safe. He had no real connection to me, no one knew I worked for him, so I figured it was safe there.

I went back to my apartment and read up on all my forensic anthropology, I needed to know everything, I decided that day how I was really going to make a splash in the one – six. It was my mother who gave me the idea. She always said, if she was going to go out, she wanted it to be with a bang. I'm not quite sure the bang she went out with was the bang she meant, but she went out on a high note.

It took me a long time to decide my victim type, they talk about how your kill and choice of victim reflects what type of person you are. See, that to me is old school, and well just plain boring. I wanted the detectives to know it was the same person, I just didn't want them to know it was me. I started taking pictures, I only had a shitty little cell phone but the camera had enough pixels to make out a face. I took pictures of different women, hooked the phone up to my new laptop and made a collage of all the faces and potential victims. I did think to myself that this was all a little bit, slasher movie, but hey, I had a point to make here. These women were just pawns in my game of chess.

It took me a good few days of staring at the photos on my wall to decide that none of these women were right. Only for the reason that if they had a family, a mother; a mother like Olivia, or they were a mother like Olivia, who was I to kill someone's mom? I wasn't. So that's how the nobody kills came into it.

I heard in the pipeline that that's what they used to call me, the nobody killer. Then of course someone made a comment about how everyone was a someone regardless of blah blah blah, and they changed my name to NYC. The New York Choker.

I always left my signature at the scene, it was something only Olivia would know. Well, if she'd have used her brain, she would have gotten it a lot sooner than she did. The only reason I got caught was because I was tired of the endless rape and murder. It's not in my nature see, so in the end I left my final calling card. I left the one thing that would link me to all the murders, the one thing that everyone at the one – six knew I had. I left my mother's black book.

My signature however was a ring, not just any ring, it was an engagement ring. I wanted to remind Olivia of our promise. In total, I killed thirty women, that's thirty rings, and what also happens to be the age Olivia said she'd marry me.

Now of course I don't think Olivia is stupid, in fact, I think she's brilliant; but she didn't use her head. I'm going to put it down to the fact she forgot about me, that just enraged me all the more, but I held on to that promise, and I held damn tight.

Going back to my new found photography, I followed Olivia, I saw her at crime scenes, in the grocery store, in her apartment, everywhere she went, I went. I watched from a distance, and at first, that was okay, but then I started to get this sinking feeling, the looks she gave Elliot, the smiles; she changed and so did he. They were in love. Every time I thought about them together I puked. It was hot, acidic bile. As it burnt up my throat I could feel the distain ripping into my raw flesh. I hated him, I hated them. I hated her. I still loved Olivia, but I hated her too. There was something so wrong about her, yet I couldn't help but love her. Like the most over exposed song, yet you can't help but love it.

I soon plastered my walls in my apartment with Olivia's pictures. She was stunning, I felt like a paparazzi, the photos I took were stunning, she was stunning; fuck me she still is. I learned her rota at work, I got her cell phone number, her work number. I knew everything there was to know about Olivia, all except one thing.

It was June eighth, I'd saved up to get these beautiful, magnificent micro cameras. They worked wonders, the zoom was amazing and when fully zoomed in the picture was still perfect. I gave myself the task of placing them in Olivia's bedroom and shower. See, the only thing I didn't know about Olivia was what she looked like naked. And that was something I needed to know!

I watched Olivia for seven hours straight before she was called into work, I wore a service man jumpsuit, peek baseball cap and had a box in my hand. I climbed down the fire escape and met Olivia at the door, luckily for me, my voice had broken so when I greeted Olivia with a

"Hello ma'am." she didn't recognise my voice. For a cop she wasn't very vigilant, she held the door open for me and let me enter. What she didn't know was, my days on the street with Buzz taught me a lot about pick pocketing. I had a lump of clay in my hand and as I bumped into her I snatched her keys, printed her door key against the clay and apologised as her keys dropped from my hand. She picked them up, gave me one of those amazing smiles and left.

I waited to see her car leave, then left myself. I had a key to make.

I still get to see Olivia, I made her a deal, that I would tell her where the other thirty bodies are, but only if she came to see me twice a year. A visit on her birthday, and a visit on my birthday. You have to understand, as many of you probably think I'm sick, I'm not. I have a reason for everything. Olivia promised me when I was thirty, she would marry me. So that's where the first thirty bodies come into this, but, when she decided to marry Elliot, then carry his child, my heart broke in two. Thirty times two is sixty, that's sixty bodies for a broken promise and a broken heart. Logic.