texts: MaryJane.  We call her M.J.
labels: MaryJane.  You think that logic and police procedure, order and science and method will hold back the horrors of a world gone mad and the sickness of the night.  I did once. But you know how he'll get caught? He'll have an accident, or some cop will get lucky.  You can't catch him by being intelligent and working hard.  Or the worst:  there are dozens of women slaughtered in the most horrible way, month after month.  The news stories grow more grotesque and bizarre and in the city people lock their doors and windows, and hurry home before dark.  And then, one day, there are no more.  What happened?  Did he just stop?  Get tired and disgusted and decide not to kill any more? Did he kill himself?  Did he die in an auto accident?  Or a fight.  Or get sick and die?  It's like the murderer walked off the edge of the earth.  And you never know.  But you keep asking yourself -- when you read about a new murder -- is he back?