There was nothing left in her apartment but a blood-stained Twinkie. The cops on the scene laughed at me till the gray-haired detective showed up and had them bag the Twinkie for the lab.
Two days later the detective was at my door. It was llama blood. Jane’s life, of which she shared with me so little, was wilder than I ever imagined. The police knew where she was.
She was watching me. All I saw in the window was her lips. Crimson flesh I worshiped. The things those lips said and did to me. I would always be her slave.