It started three days ago.  A local mental-case, by the name of Carla Parker, appeared at my door during the sexing hour. Amidst this brief, but frustratingly informative visit, Carla expressed plans to kill one of my former patients: Tristan Cecil. Not that murdering Tristan, a solid brass narcissist, portended therapeutic disaster. I had often entertained his demise - purely, to achieve stress-relief. Unfortunately, Carla's visit defused my fantasies regarding Maddy's new nightgown. And, let me tell you, it is a ring-ding-dinger...