The Zero Antigen Theorem: Book 1 Read online

  The Zero Antigen Theorem

  Book 1

  Kalynn Bayron

  Copyright © 2015 by Kalynn Bayron

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information and storage retrieval system now known or to be invented without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote a brief passage in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper, or broadcast.

  CONTENTS

  QUINN

  ROMAN

  STRANGERS

  THE TRUTH

  UNINVITED

  MR. HAMMOND

  QUINN

  Quinn stared at the clock. Why was it that the rest of the week seemed to slip by almost unnoticed, but Fridays seemed to drag on for eternity? Quinn didn’t have any plans. She just wanted to fall into bed and sleep the weekend away.

  Working at the county blood bank was supposed to be an easy gig. Her friend had suggested she give it a try when her nursing school plans fell through. That was almost two years ago and Quinn was beginning to wonder if she was stuck. She didn’t want to be stuck. But each time she thought about quitting and heading back to school she was reminded of the fact that she had bills to pay.

  Qwest Blood Bank of Columbia County was not such a terrible place to be if she had to put up with being stuck for a little while longer. They paid well and she met a lot of interesting people along the way. She had been told on many occasions that she was a good listener, that there was something about her that made people want to tell her their life stories. She wondered what that was exactly, so that she could change it immediately.

  Quinn wasn’t anti-social but she wasn’t the one of those people who could strike up a conversation with a stranger. Being social was hard for her, but she faked it with the authority of a skilled thespian.

  As her dreary Friday ticked by at a snail’s pace she thought about the new comforter she picked up the week before. It was light and airy with little blue polka dots on a beige background. She wished she could fall into the folds of it right at that moment.

  “Uh,miss?” said a man’s voice.

  Quinn snapped out of her daydream to find that a line had formed in front of her. She fumbled with some random paperwork feeling her cheeks flush.

  “Sir, if you could just fill these out and bring them back up to me when you’re done, that’d be great,” said Quinn handing the balding man a packet of paperwork and a clipboard.

  “You got a pen?” asked the man, sticking out his chin and tapping his fingers on the counter.

  “The flowers are pens,” said Quinn.

  “What?” The man asked, confused.

  “The flowers…” said Quinn, motioning to a jar filled with colorful fake flowers. She picked one up and flipped it over revealing the ink pen taped to the bottom. “They’re pens.”

  “Stupidest thing I’ve seen all day,” muttered the man as he walked away.

  Quinn rolled her eyes. It was entirely too late in the week to be dealing with this kind of foolishness. She tended to the other customers in line before moving to her station in the back. She looked at her roster of names and hit the call light that signaled the next person to come to her area. Area number three.

  A tall spindly looking man approached and handed her a little slip of paper that had his draw number on it. She took it and tossed it in the trash can beside her chair.

  “Seems like a waste doesn’t it?” he said as he positioned himself in the reclining chair.

  “What does?” asked Quinn, barely bothering to pay attention.

  “That little slip of paper getting tossed away like that. Seems like a waste of paper.”

  Quinn exhaled slowly. Foolishness. “You just relax and let me worry about the trash okay?”

  “Sure thing sweet cheeks.” The man smiled, revealing a row of yellowed teeth.

  Quinn swallowed hard and tried to think of something that didn’t make her want to vomit. She set to work inserting a small IV into the man’s outstretched arm. He rested his head on the back of the chair and closed his eyes.

  “First time giving blood?” asked Quinn. She could always tell when someone was a newbie.

  “Yup,” said the man.

  Once the IV was in place and the donation bag was hung up she put a cool rag on the man’s forehead and patted him gently on the shoulder.

  “Try to relax,” she said. “It’ll all be over in ten minutes.”

  She turned to sit down and the man put his hand on her arm. “Hey I didn’t mean nothin’ by that.”

  “By what?”

  “You know, what I said just now. Sweet cheeks. That was kinda rude.”

  Quinn smiled. “It was, but I’ve got your life in my hands now, so best not let it happen again.” She pulled her arm away from the man and adjusted the tubing. The blood to flowed into the donation bag and Quinn made sure he could see the process clearly. His face turned a shade of gray Quinn had never seen before.

  I got your sweet cheeks. Quinn thought.

  When the bag was filled to capacity she removed the IV from the man’s arm and processed the donation while he enjoyed a standard after-donation snack of apple juice and crackers.

  “You’re all set,” said Quinn as she stacked up his paperwork and stapled it together. He seemed a little queasier than most. “Take all the time you need before you stand up. I don’t need you passing out on me, sweet cheeks.”

  The man nodded his head and closed his eyes. From the look on his face, Quinn could tell he wasn’t getting up anytime soon and that particular little fact made her smile.

  She busied herself with paperwork and some straightening up before the man finally pulled himself up out of the chair and headed towards the front door. She smiled. It was just a little stick, it didn’t even hurt. And the blood draw itself was so minimal it shouldn’t have made him so wobbly on his feet. She sighed. She had a little too much fun at his expense but, sweet cheeks?

  As the hours ticked by she remembered that it was her turn to close. The thought made her want to bang her head against the wall. How could she have forgotten that it was her turn to stay late?

  Oh well. She thought. At least I don’t have to open on Monday.

  It was a company rule that anyone who closed on Friday didn’t have to come in until nine the following Monday instead of the regular eight o’clock start time. That was something to look forward to. Quinn watched as one of her co-worked bounced towards the door with the kind of pep in her step that only Friday could cause.

  “Have a great weekend!” she said as she sauntered out to her car.

  Quinn planned on napping, eating, maybe catching a movie, but that was about it. She didn’t know if that qualified as a great weekend, but it sounded marvelous to her. Normally, with the weekend finally here, Brady would have been texting her relentlessly, but since their breakup a month prior, Quinn didn’t have to worry about entertaining him. He was a complete jerk. As a matter of fact, he probably the king of jerks. If he hadn’t gotten up the nerve to break up with her she would have done the honors before long. She didn’t really want him around anymore. Sure, she sometimes missed his chiseled good looks, but good looks only went so far.

  Brady was a former college football player. All brawn and muscles and not much else. He was funny, which is what drew her to him in the beginning. But after a while she realized that she couldn’t hold an intelligent conversation with him for more than a minute before he resorted to making dick jokes around and flexing one body part or another. Quinn smiled as she thought about what an idiot he was.
She had put up with him far longer than she should have. She knew better. She knew there was no future with him. And so when he broke up with her because he couldn’t fit her into his “training schedule”, she didn’t even pretend to be upset.

  Good riddance. She thought.

  Quinn lived alone. Her parents had been gone since she was a little girl. She didn’t mind being alone. She preferred it most of the time. She was looking forward to being alone this coming weekend.

  “Quinn, I need you to get Mr. Hammond’s package ready,” said Mr. Aguire.

  Her boss was the best kind of boss. He didn’t trouble himself with what was happening in the front of the clinic on most days. Most days, except Fridays. Every Friday, Mr. Aguire would shuffle out of his office and instruct Quinn to prepare a package for Mr. Hammond. He had done this every week since Quinn started working there.

  All her boss told her about the exchange was that Mr. Hammond was a doctor of some sort and that he required fresh samples, usually two bags, of O negative blood each week for his research. Quinn didn’t ask questions. She did as her boss instructed and prepared Mr. Hammond’s cool-storage box for pickup.

  The rest of Quinn’s co-workers made their way home and even Mr. Aguire scooted out before five thirty. By five thirty-five Quinn had the place to herself as she waited for Mr. Hammond.

  The sun was setting, casting long shadows through the windows of the clinic. The warm Georgia evenings were something Quinn had come to embrace since moving from Oregon when she was just out of high school. She wanted to be someplace warm but not on the beach. Georgia was hot and muggy and the air in the late summer months was like a wet blanket. She learned early on that there was no point in straightening her curly hair or wearing a ton of makeup, not unless she wanted to look like a sad clown at the end of the day.

  Quinn flipped on a small television that was normally used to entertain patients during the donation process. A rerun of Pretty Little Liars was all she could find. She kept the volume low as she swept the floor and disinfected the countertops. She went to the front door and carefully disinfected the handles and wiped the glass until it was streak-free.

  As she peered out into the parking lot she saw a young man standing very still at the far end of the walkway. It startled her to see someone just standing there. He was mostly obscured by the shadow of the building but she could see he was young, perhaps younger than her, maybe early twenties with dark brown hair and pale skin.

  Her heart began to race and she shook her head. She didn’t understand why she was so flustered. It wasn’t out of the ordinary to see people milling about. But this person, this man, was standing there, as still as a statue.

  She rested her hand on the door handle, looking down to see if the lock was flipped up. It wasn’t. She reached down to locked the door and when she looked up, the man was gone. She scanned the parking lot carefully. There were no cars other than her little maroon Civic. There was no sign of him anywhere. She leaned closer to the glass, trying to make out where he had gone.

  Bang!

  Someone pulled forcefully on the door. Quinn let out a loud shriek, stumbling backward. On the other side of the glass, Mr. Hammond stood, clearly agitated. He rapped on the glass.

  “Let me in this instant!” He scowled at Quinn.

  She quickly unlocked the door and held it open as the stout little man waddled into the clinic.

  “Where is my package?” he barked.

  “It’s, it’s right here,” she stammered. She took the small box from the counter and handed it to Mr. Hammond. He snatched it out of her hands.

  “Did you happen to see anyone out there?” Quinn asked.

  “What? Where?” Mr. Hammond spun around and peered out the door.

  “I thought I saw, well, I thought I saw someone.”

  “Well I don’t see anyone out there now.” Mr. Hammond struggled to hold the cold storage box under his arm.

  “Do you need some help getting that to your car?”

  “No!” he snapped. He opened the door and looked around before hastily shoving the box into the back seat of his car and speeding off.

  “You’re welcome!” Quinn yelled after him. She shot him the bird as he disappeared around the front of the building.

  Jerk.

  She closed the door and locked it so that she could grab her keys and coat. She flicked off the TV and the rest of the lights. She set the alarm and hustled out the front door before it armed itself. She ran-walked to her car and slid in behind the steering wheel, closing and locking the door in one quick motion. She put her key in the ignition and the engine roared to life. The interior lights dimmed and she exhaled deeply as the brightly lit dashboard controls washed the forward compartment of her car in a pale green light. She sped out of the parking lot much faster than the 5 miles-per-hour street sign suggested.

  ROMAN

  Quinn’s alarm went off at 8 o’clock on Monday morning. She listened to the repetitive beeping of the digital clock for a full ten minutes before she attempted to knock it off of the dresser with a shoe. That attempt failed miserably and so she decided to crawl out of her blanket cocoon and get her day started.

  She wobbled into her tiny bathroom with her eyes half closed. She didn’t bother to turn on the light as she brushed her teeth. She turned on the shower and let the steam from the hot water fill up the bathroom before she hopped in. She washed her long brown hair with her familiar vanilla scented shampoo and stood letting the water jet out onto her back. She didn’t really want to go in today. She thought about calling off but, after sifting through some unopened mail detailing the skyrocketing cost of her air conditioning, decided against it.

  Her weekend had gone exactly as planned. She slept the day away Saturday and on Sunday she treated herself to a movie. She straightened up her small apartment and did her weekly laundry. The only thing that differentiated this weekend from most others was that Quinn could not stop thinking about the strange man she had seen outside the clinic on Friday night. She couldn’t get the image of him out of her head. The way he stood in the darkness was off putting to say the least and it made the hair on the back of her neck stand up when she thought about it.

  She finished her shower and pulled a pair of clean scrubs from the laundry basket. She dressed quickly and hurried into the kitchen to grab a quick breakfast. Her automatic coffee pot was already bubbling and she prepared two slices of avocado toast. It was eight thirty and, realizing that she was cutting it a little too close, grabbed her keys. She paused briefly to look at a small picture that sat in a wooden frame on her kitchen counter.

  The picture showed her as a small girl, her brown hair cut into a hideous little bob and her dark eyes wide; her smile missing at least three teeth right in the front. She sat on her mother’s lap while her father stood behind them smiling proudly, his wavy red hair messy and his green eyes shining. Quinn had always loved his big green eyes. They seemed so special compared to her brown eyes. Her boring, regular brown eyes. The only reason she didn’t completely loath the way she looked was because she was a mirror image of her mother.

  She picked up the picture and kissed it before setting it back down, grabbing her travel mug full of hot coffee, and heading out the door.

  Quinn got to work at eight fifty-five. She scanned her badge to clock in and put her belongings in her locker at the back of the break room. She guzzled the last bit of coffee and kicked herself as she realized she had left her avocado toast on her kitchen counter. She grunted angrily and took a deep breath in.

  Roll with the punches sweetie, it’s Monday.

  Quinn walked to the front desk and took a seat by the computer. She saw that there were a few people in the waiting room who had already been helped. She thumbed through some paperwork and began inputting donor information into the system.

  The day ticked by at a steady pace. At lunchtime, she walked over to Amy’s Bakery and bought another coffee and a bagel. She felt better after she ate. The evening hours
flew by and before she knew it, it was nearly 6 o’clock.

  “Geez... it’s almost time to go,” Quinn said staring at the clock.

  “Crap! I gotta get home,” said Mandy. “My old man’s got somethin’ planned. It’s our fifteen-year anniversary.”

  “Really? Congratulations,” Quinn said. “That’s really sweet.”

  “Sweet?” Mandy cocked her head to the side and laughed. “Honey, that man is probably sittin’ at home in his tighty-whiteys thinkin’ he’s gonna thrill me with the same old moves he’s been puttin’ on me since the day we got married.”

  Mandy and Quinn had worked together for over a year. They got along pretty well even though Mandy was older and little more brash than most people Quinn was acquainted with.

  “Well, at least he’s tyring, right?” offered Quinn, whose face had flushed hot with embarrassment.

  “Tryin’ is about all he’s doin’ if you know what I mean.” Mandy winked at Quinn and leaned over to log out of the computer at her station then gathered up her things. Quinn was about to do the same thing when she heard the familiar ding! of the sensor that let her know someone had entered the clinic.

  Quinn looked up and her heart almost stopped. The young man she had seen in the parking lot was now standing right in front of her. She stared at him without even blinking. Her heart found its rhythm again and she shook her head, embarrassed.

  “Can…can I...can I help you?” she stammered.

  “I’m not sure,” he replied. His voice was deep and resonant and his words were like music. His skin was very pale and the hollows under his eyes were a deep purple.

  Quinn was absolutely dumbstruck. She didn’t understand why, exactly, but she tried to calm herself by looking away from the beautiful stranger.

  “Would you like to make a donation?” she asked. She didn’t look up.

  “No, I don’t think I can do that,” he said.