.."Joy Store"...conjured images of acquiring things that brought me unbridled joy. Slightly illicit. More joy than was legal. More than you expecte.... Any more and it'd be i*****l.I mumbled something about pulling weeds and doing chores.She smiled. And licked her lips. Looked at me with a slightly wicked smile."I could use some help with 'chores' around here," she purred.I took my bag and drove home, fantasizing about what kind of chores she had in mind.My next visit clarified things.We. God, the thought of what she'd had to listen to, of how he spoke would be with her for life. She had watched his face as he described his many victims, the torture methods of killing he had used, the blood and gore he had shed. He was emotionless, passive with about as much passion in his words as she had when she talked getting the tires rotated on her car.He had calmly taken her through a twenty-some years career in killing, carefully detailing events psychotic and horrible enough to give her. More

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