T.K. Reilley reserves the copyright to STATISTIC and consents to publication by Apocalyptic Press. No part may be copied or reproduced without permission from the publisher or author. Thank you.
Copyright, T.K. Reilley, 2011
The apartment smelled like blood and beer. Not an unusual occurrence, Ramona thought with a wrinkled nose when she let herself inside with the key Ally had given her. As always, the blood smell brought longings to the surface, but she suppressed them. A night spent with two young, tasty men had quenched all of her thirsts, for the time being.
She removed the sunglasses that protected her fragile eyes from the sun’s hot rays and called out, “Ally?” Her friend didn’t answer. Ramona’s mouth twisted when she said, “Raymond?” It was a relief he didn’t answer her summons.
She picked her way through the debris on the floor, kicking aside empty beer cans, discarded pizza boxes, and dry bags from Crester Hills Blood Bank. When had Ally become such a slob?