It was just a month since he had done it. A month since he had locked up the man who he supposedly spent his teenage with. The poetic killer. He was the poetic killer and he lived with him. He was the poetic killer, he had killed men, women and scribbled poems on them. Poems like the one he was staring at. Port Harcourt was a big city and also known for its notoriety. Jones is pacing around his room, his hand arched above his head as he stared at the screen.Breaking News!Rising Model found dead in her apartment.It was not possible. He was sure he had the right man in jail. His father. He called the prison immediately, it was late, but he didn't care. It was more than just any crime. It was a reputable killer. The killer the world hid from and some had called the face of death. It was the face of death again, hopefully not death itself.He pulled his reports from