Chapter 2
Discovery
Welsh was home when Rhyne arrived. As soon as he walked into the kitchen, the man looked up from the sandwich he was making near the sink. Rhyne saw his roomie’s nostrils flair and already knew what the guy would say before the words were spoken.
“You smell like a brewery. Did you make a side trip?”
Rhyne slipped off the backpack and took it over to the counter, setting it down next to the fridge. “I got waylaid by an asshole wanting my bag.”
Welsh snorted. “I take it he wouldn’t take no for an answer?”
Rhyne removed the blood bags from the insulated interior and set them on a shelf inside the fridge. “He also had a gun, so I taught him a lesson.”
“Ah.” Sliding over, the man peered inside. “What kind did we get tonight?”
Rhyne grunted. “Let’s see. O pos, O pos, AB pos, B neg—”
“Dibs on the B neg!” Welsh called out. “Any more negative blood?”
“Here’s an AB neg.” He held up the bag.
Welsh made a disgusted face and shook his head. “Nothing with A. A gives me heartburn. Any O neg?”
“Umm, no.”
“Awright. I’ll take a couple of the Os.”
Tossing the last bag inside, Rhyne closed the door and placed the backpack on the floor in its usual spot. “What’s for supper?”
“Leftovers. That’s why I’m fixing me a sandwich.”
They heard the sound of the front door being unlocked, and the third member of their little group joined them.
“Holy moly! Did somebody take a bath at a beer hall tonight?” Nash exclaimed as he strode into the kitchen.
“I had to convince a drunk meth head that trying to rob me of my backpack wasn’t a good idea,” Rhyne grumbled.
“He also had a gun,” Welsh informed him.
“Is he still alive?” Nash asked, earning a snort from Rhyne.
That alone was the man’s answer. They did their best not to kill anyone.
Doing so would bring down the full force of law enforcement, and murder had no statute of limitation.
But leaving the guy as he had, alive but injured, , would not.
And considering the odds that the cops were probably already well-familiar with the guy, the chances of them believing the guy’s story—whatever it may end up being—had a less than zero chance of succeeding.
“What’s for supper?” Nash inquired, checking the contents of the fridge.
“Leftovers,” Rhyne and Welsh chorused.
“I’m in the mood for pizza. Anyone wanna go in with me?”
“As long as you keep the mushrooms on your side, I’m in,” Rhyne declared.
“I could go for a pizza,” Welsh admitted.
“Okayyy.” Pulling his phone from his pocket, he started to place the call when he got an irritated look on his face. “Shit. I got less than two minutes left, and I don’t have an extra phone card with me.”
“Here. Use mine.” Rhyne tossed him his disposable.
While the man made the call, he started to close the refrigerator when his gaze fell upon the AB negative blood bag.
It had been how long? How many years? Since he last tasted AB.
The majority of what they drank was O, mostly positive but sometimes negative.
A and B every once in a while. But AB was not so common. And AB negative was…
“I wonder what percentage of the human population has that blood type? Not that many, I’d guess.”
“Twenty-five minutes? Thanks.” Nash ended the conversation and handed Rhyne’s phone back to him. “I ordered the extra-large. You two owe me ten bucks each.”
“Thirty bucks for a pizza?” Welsh exclaimed.
Nash shrugged. “Add in the delivery charge and the tip…”
Rhyne snorted. “That’s why we don’t order pizza that often, in case you guys forgot.”
“Well, I’m gonna have me a little snack before dinner gets here,” Nash remarked. “Rhyne, hand me that B neg.”
Grinning, Rhyne snagged the AB neg and stepped back. “Get it yourself.”
He took it over to the sink. With a hard pinch with his fingers, he snapped off one of the port covers and proceeded to fill the container partway with cold tap water.
That done, he plugged the top of the port with his thumb and gave the bag a vigorous shake until all the residue inside the bag was thoroughly mixed with the water.
Rather than squeeze the contents directly into his mouth the way his roommates did, Rhyne took a straw from the tall glass sitting on the counter, stuck it through the port, and sipped the results. He didn’t know he’d heaved a sigh of contentment until Welsh remarked on it.
“That good, huh?”
“Ambrosia.”
“What did you get?” Nash asked as his own bag was filling.
“The AB negative. I’d almost forgotten how good that type tasted,” Rhyne admitted.
Welsh chuckled. “Well, if you guys are having an appetizer, I might as well have one, too.”
Rhyne took his drink into the living room and plopped down on the reclining sofa. He sipped another mouthful, letting it swish around his tongue as Nash joined him, taking the rocker recliner. Since the TV remote was closest to Nash, the man turned on the television.
“Did you remember to record the game tonight?” Rhyne asked.
In reply, Nash found the program and started it as Welsh joined Rhyne on the other end of the sofa.
Rhyne sucked up another swig of the diluted blood. It was quickly dispelling the aftertaste left by his attacker’s blood and leaving its own more pleasing one.
Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back against the cushions.
He told himself to nurse this rare treat.
To savor it as long as he could. Maybe even save a bit for tomorrow.
He quickly gave up that possibility. For one thing, he knew he didn’t have that kind of self-control.
He’d drink all of it tonight, then dream about Norris receiving another bag—
Wait.
Opening his eyes, he thought back on the bags he’d brought home. There was Nash’s B negative container.
“I wonder if the guy who got the AB negative blood also got the B neg?”
“Actually, AB negative donors can take blood from anybody,” Welsh commented. “They’re the universal accepters.”
“I know that,” Rhyne responded. “I’m wondering if Norris will be serving up more AB negative.”
“Depends on if the patient needing it is still in the hospital, and if he needs another transfusion. I can call Norris tomorrow and ask,” Nash offered.
“See if he can check and see. You know he’ll fill a special order if he can.
You just have to ask him. As long as the number of bags we return matches the number he hands over so the count isn’t off, we’re good. ”
They settled back to enjoy the game when the doorbell rang, letting them know the pizza had arrived. Rhyne exchanged his blood bag for a beer to enjoy with his pizza, but after a couple of swallows of the special lager, he knew he had to finish his initial drink first.
“You’re not gonna eat?” Welsh queried as Rhyne lifted the footrest on the sofa recliner and eased back.
“I’ll eat my part later, so neither of you touch it. Let me give this little AB neg the attention it deserves.”
“It’ll go cold,” Nash remarked, referring to the pizza.
“I’ve had cold pizza before. No biggie. But this…” Lifting the bag, he saluted them with it.
At some point he drifted off. It wasn’t until both men yelled at the TV over a disputed call that he awoke. Grumbling, Rhyne opened his eyes when his mind froze. His body went rigid as he stared directly at the TV set.
At the uniforms the players were wearing.
At the color of the uniforms the players were wearing.
And the green field. And the crowd in the stands with their multi-colored clothing.
He could barely breathe. I can see color. I can see in color!
The last time he’d seen anything in color was back in the early nineteen hundreds, when he was still human. Before he was attacked and left for dead, only to awaken in his current form, in his current reincarnation.
Before he became a vampire and lost all ability to see anything beyond the spectrum of black and white.