Blood Work by Rick Ollerman

Author:Rick Ollerman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Down & Out Books

Awhile later, something jolted Eddy from a dead sleep. The cloudless, moonless sky kept the bedroom in deep shadow. Heart pounding, she held her breath. After thirty seconds of hearing nothing unusual, she decided she’d better swear off watching blood and gore before bed.

She rolled onto her side and yawned deep, allowing herself to sink into the abyss. The sandman had almost worked his magic when a definitive thunk issued from across the room, followed by a whispered curse.

Someone was in the bedroom with her. She stiffened, tried not to move. In about fifteen milliseconds she considered and discarded several possibilities. Could be Shay, but why would she by skulking around her bedroom at O-Dark-Thirty?

She grabbed the whacker with one hand, and whipped the other toward her night lamp to flick it on. At least she’d be able to see whoever was prowling around her boudoir.

The light was blinding. Eddy managed to make out the form of a person dressed in black. She swatted at the intruder, and missed.

Whoever it was managed to wrap ice-cold hands around her throat.

“Where is it, you old biddy?” The voice was male, deep and growly, muffled by a black ski mask.

Eddy would’ve asked what it was he was talking about if she could have formed a word. As it was it took all the focus she had to breathe.

“Come on, you old battle-ax. I know you have it.”

Eddy squawked hoarsely, her sight beginning to tunnel from fear and lack of oxygen. She tightened her fingers on her whacker and belted the bastard in the side of the head as hard as she could.

“Ow! You broke my skull!” he shouted.

Even though she’d hit him hard, her assailant’s hands tightened on Eddy’s throat. Her vision narrowed to pinpricks. She was almost out of time.

She whacked the intruder again, right in the same spot. He yelped and toppled sideways, smacking his head on the bedside table with an unmistakable thunk.

In a move that would’ve made the U.S. Gymnastics team proud, Eddy bounced out of bed and landed next to Mr. Broken Head.

The man scrabbled backward on elbows and heels like an out-of-control crab until a dresser abruptly halted his progress. With a mighty windup, Eddy swung the whacker again. It whooshed by his nose, missing her target by millimeters.

He screeched and rolled out of the way, hooking Eddy’s ankle with his foot.

Down she went.

Scrambling on hands and knees, he scooted out of the bedroom door into the hall, whining like a naughty two-year-old.

Eddy cursed her arthritis, fleetingly wondering how many bruises she’d wind up with after this was said and done. She got to her feet and staggered into the hall as the Broken Head disappeared down the stairs. She wobbled after him, waving her whacker, snarling like a wounded tiger.

When she hit the kitchen, she heard more than saw the man leap through what was left of her screen door. Eddy stuck her head out of the ripped screen and hollered, “Take that you son of

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