And what an odd program this was. Their unconventional hours were only the start. Spending half the day and evening at the safe house in Twin Peaks had been strange to say the least. He’d passed the time playing Wii with the other agents. Were they actually paying him for this? He could hardly believe his luck.
Feeling another bout of heartburn assault him he turned to his bag and rummaged through it, but realized quickly that he’d forgotten to pack antacids in his haste. Oliver and Cain had rushed him when packing his stuff to move to the house, and now he was paying the price for it. Somewhere in this house they had to have some sort of medicine cabinet stocked with the basics.
Without getting dressed, he left his room, wearing only his PJ bottoms, and trotted downstairs.
It was still quiet despite the late hour. Suited him fine; he wasn’t a morning person anyway, and if this company preferred to operate later in the day and into the night, he had no objections.
Nobody had really explained the layout of the home all that thoroughly when he’d moved in two days earlier, so he decided to simply open a few doors to see what he could find. Truth be told, he was antsy and raring to do something, preferably take part in another training exercise. And this time, he wanted to be the decoy. He was sure that Wesley had had fun in that role. Now it was his turn.
Pushing the first door along the first floor corridor open, he entered and looked around. It was an office. He glanced around quickly. It was tidy. Trying a few of the drawers, he realized that everything was locked. Shrugging, he left and continued his explorations.
When he reached the next door, he eased it open and peered inside the room. An oversized washer and dryer lined one wall. Since there was no chance of finding antacids in a laundry room, he turned to leave, but something odd caught his eye. He pivoted and took two steps into the room.
His hand reached out and lifted the empty bottle that stood on the dryer. Remnants of red liquid were encrusted on its bottom. The clear glass was imprinted with only two letters: AB+.
Blake sniffed and recoiled, instantly being reminded of the many bar fights that lay in his past. The smell was the same as when he’d tasted his own blood when some jerk had broken his nose with a well-aimed punch.
“Yuck!” he ground out.
This couldn’t possibly be what it smelled like. No way did blood come in bottles. Sure, if there was a bleeder in the house, then maybe he might keep bags of blood in the fridge for an emergency transfusion, he knew that much from the science channel, but who on earth would keep blood in bottles? No, his sense of smell had to be off. Maybe it was because of that damn heartburn that plagued him.
He set the weird bottle back where he found it and left the room. His best chance at finding a remedy for his stomach troubles was most likely in the kitchen. For sure, that’s where they kept any meds like that.
Blake entered the kitchen and was surprised to see Wesley sitting at the kitchen table, his head buried in a book. At the sound of the door closing behind him, the other trainee’s head snapped toward him.
“Oh, hey, Blake. Didn’t think you’d be up this early.”
“Early? Guess you’re not used to this odd schedule either, huh? I mean—” He motioned his head to the ceiling. “—can you believe that our trainers sleep practically all day? What kind of company allows that?”
Wesley grinned from one ear to the other. “A pretty cool company.” Then he pointed to the kitchen counter. “Want some coffee? I made a fresh pot.”
Blake was about to decline, knowing that coffee would make him feel even worse, but thought otherwise of it. He didn’t want Wesley to think he was a weakling.
“Sure.”
“Milk is in the fridge.”
“I drink it black, thanks.” No need to add another dose of lactose to his sensitive stomach.
As he poured himself a cup, he opened up one of the cabinets, clandestinely looking for some antacids.
“What do you need?” Wesley asked.
“Uh, sugar,” he lied and opened another cabinet, but came up empty once more. Darn, was he the only one in this house who used antacids?
“On the table.”
Pasting a smile on his face he turned back to Wesley and joined him at the kitchen table.
“What are you reading?”
“Just some research,” Wesley deflected and closed the book, shoving it under a newspaper, before Blake could read the title.
His curiosity aroused, he reached for it and pulled it out before his fellow trainee had a chance to stop him.
“Hey, that’s mine!”
Wesley reached for it, but Blake pulled away from the table, then read the book’s title.