Free THE SUBWAY COLLECTION-A Box Set of 8 Dark Stories to Read on the Go by Billie Sue Mosiman Page B

mission has preceded me. You know about my book?"
                  He gestured with his good hand that she take the second rocker next to him. When she was comfortably seated he said, "Everyone knows. You can't go into Potts' store without someone bringing it up. You're a regular sensation around Paul. Who would have thought we'd produce a talented girl like you?"
                  She smiled and brushed back a wisp of bangs from her forehead. "I love this place," she said. "That's why I wanted to tape all the stories about it so it could be preserved in print. Do you mind if I turn on my tape recorder while we talk?"
                  "Go ahead, won't bother me any."
                  She pressed a button on a recording machine that was about the size of a hardback book.
                  "Now," she said. "You know what I'm after, right? I want you to just talk to me as if we were having an afternoon chat about your past. We can talk like friends, you don’t have to worry about how it sounds or anything. I'll be transcribing the tapes and typing them up in your own words. I have a release form here that I'd like you to sign, if you don't mind. It's just a formality the publisher asked me to have contributors put their John Hancock on." She pawed through a fat leather shoulder bag and brought out a sheet written in small print and handed it over with a ballpoint pen.
                  He held the paper on his knees with his damaged right hand and painstakingly signed his name with his left. It looked like hen-scratchings on dry ground, but he knew that was of no consequence.
                  "You don't want to read it?" she asked.
                  He gave her a bemused look. "Nah, that's okay. I cant read much without my glasses anyway."
                  "I can read it to you…"
                  "Not necessary. Now where should I start?" The fluttering was back in his chest. It was going to be difficult, the most troublesome event in his life to confess to his crimes. Especially to this unsuspecting and innocent young woman. How did you make horror and depravity come out sounding like anything other than it was? He was not going to offer excuse. He had long ago realized there was no excuse under heaven for his sins.
                  She folded the paper and put it and the pen in her purse again. "Anywhere you'd like," she said. "When you were a boy? Or when you were grown and living through the Depression, that might even be better."
                  "Well, it started when I was just a boy. I had turned just thirteen…"
                  "The Depression started then? But…"
                  "No," he said. "I'm not going to tell you a story like you've gotten from the other old people around here. My story isn't about surviving the Depression or what it meant to go from horse and buggies to cars or from slaughtering our own animals to buying store-wrapped meat. I have an entirely different tale to tell you."
                  She gave him a perplexed stare, but her attention was rapt, open to whatever he wished to tell her. "Well, go on, then. Whatever you want to say is all right with me. What started when you were thirteen?"
                  "Murder." He must get that out into the open before he lost his courage. There was no point in wasting this young woman's time.
                  The girl was visibly shaken. Her eyes widened perceptively and she swallowed and blinked.
                  "I'm afraid this won't be pleasant for you," he said.
                  "Murder?" Her voice was small and shocked. A fly landed on her cheek and she shook her head to make it leave.
                  "That's when it started. My first kill. I'd like to tell you how it happened…"
                  Then the fluttering of