Delia met John in a London pub in 1994. He seemed charming. He was a painter and decorator. She thought, “Why not?”
Big mistake. Huge. John Sweeney wasn’t just a painter of walls. He was a painter of death.
He kept a diary of his murders. He sketched his victims. Classy, right?
Dinner with a Killer
One night, Delia found his diary. She read entries about a woman named “Melissa.” She asked, “Who’s that?” John’s reply? “She’s dead.” Casual as a weather report.
Delia didn’t run. Not yet. Because love makes you do dumb things. Really dumb things.
She stayed with him for two more years. Two years of gaslighting, lies, and a man who talked to his victims in his sleep. Creepy? Try terrifying.
