Jack knew every breath of the words writing by the good doctor. They painted a picture that would last far longer than any photograph could; they would keep his killings in the minds of the world forever. As he listed the qualities of the state Mary was found in, Jack laughed. His chuckle slightly manic in his state. It really had been a mess, because at that point anything but madness was not an option.
"Maybe I was just practicing for my practice?" He said. Jack had thought of every reason his last victim had been so different from the rest. His dreams going through the kill in his mind like watching it on mute. Jack could give a thousand reasons as if they were the right one, but deep down the answer sat scrapping to stay there.
"And should we find out if you have one?" His tone was mocking, angry and full of denial. He palmed his knife so that he could run his hand over the freshly made wounds and smear the blood under the rip in his shirt. The more he moved his hand the harder he pressed in, his nails now digging into the wound like he was attempting to open him up manually.