As my one-week break came to an end, I found myself back in the familiar grip of stress. I worked for a non-profit organization called JO's Corp, where my role as a Biochemist focused on researching the effects of chemicals on medical problems such as cancer, aging, and obesity. However, at the moment, I was working on something outside of my area of expertise, thanks to Samantha's vindictive nature. I had lost count of the number of times I owed her.
With a groan, I wiped the sweat from my brow with the back of my lab coat sleeve. Currently, I was attempting to develop an algae-based oil to replace the petroleum used in hairspray—a task I wished I didn't have to undertake. Glancing over at Samantha, I saw her engrossed in determining the protein content of beans. Many people mistakenly believe that beans themselves are classified as protein, but they are actually a source of protein, not protein itself.
Looking at the beans, I suddenly remembered that I needed to buy groceries on my way back home. There was a pest consuming all the food in my house. I frowned, thinking of Sei happily freeloading off me. I hadn't mustered enough courage to kick him out yet, despite voicing my discontent. You can already guess the outcome.
He ate my food, watched my TV, and lived in my house without contributing to any bills, as if he were a pet. One day, I found him lounging on my couch, guzzling down pints of my insanely expensive Jeroboam of Chateau Mouton-Rothschild 1945 wine—a wine that was meant for decoration, not consumption. Anger consumed me at the remembrance of that unfortunate event.
"Judging from your expression, something terrible must have happened," Samantha teased, interrupting my thoughts.
"My Jeroboam of Chateau Mouton-Rothschild 1945 is gone!" I exclaimed, affecting a heavily accented French voice.
"You mean someone stole your $20,594 bottle of wine?!" Samantha responded incredulously.
"I would say yes, considering he's a criminal after all."
" I don't understand you."
I let out a sigh. "Just the thought alone is depressing enough. I don't want to talk about it." With that, I returned to my project, engrossed in my work for the rest of the time, maintaining a brooding silence.
Halfway through, Samantha broke the silence. "Are you giving me the silent treatment?"
Letting out yet another sigh, I replied, "I'm not giving you any silent treatment. I'm just trying to finish this on time."
"Well, happy working with the fungi," she mockingly remarked before walking away.
Good, run!
An hour later, I had completed my work, but my day was far from over. I dragged my weary body to the bathroom to splash water on my face. Glancing at my wristwatch, I let out another groan.
Mondays were usually swift, and I felt energized after a good weekend. However, this Monday felt dreadful, filled with stress and crawling at a snail's pace. On top of that, I had a rough weekend—the worst weekend. I hadn't experienced any strange events or memory loss since the previous incident, but it felt like the calm before the storm.
I repeatedly splashed the cold water on my face until it felt numb. For some reason, I felt restless. I hadn't heard from my grandmother, and I still needed to ask her about the picture we had found. Pushing these thoughts aside for now, I decided to take a short break in my office before diving into my next project.
JO's Corp being one of the largest non-governmental companies in the United States, Samantha and I not only worked as employees but also owned 40% of the company. However, we still had higher-ups to answer to, and sometimes we had to work like any other employee. Whether it was assigned projects, meetings, or events, most of the time our involvement was voluntary.
Although I had enough money to retire at the age of thirty, I had no intention of doing so because I genuinely loved my work. Slumping into my chair, weariness consumed me. I decided to close my eyes and rest for about thirty minutes, but my plan was interrupted by the ringing of my office phone.
"Alora Smith on the phone..."
"Hey Alora, I'm so sorry to disturb you. I can tell you're exhausted, but brace yourself for the news I bring," Jane said cheerfully.
Jane, one of the major shareholders of the company, had a cute and easygoing personality. My weariness dissipated when I heard her sweet and soothing voice.
"Let's see if I do," I responded.
"You will!" she exclaimed enthusiastically. I felt my energy drain further. Was she too happy about my misfortune?
"You have been assigned to go over to Lab Corp. We're joining hands for the Zikofic Project."
I rolled my eyes, thinking they had dropped the nonsense about using Z+ blood type to find a cure for cancer. The Z+ blood type had been discovered three months ago in an individual named Zachariah, giving rise to the blood type designation.
"Is that right?" Jane asked, seeking confirmation.
"I don't know because I wasn't listening, sorry!" I apologized, realizing I had zoned out.
"It's okay," she replied, forgiving as always.
"So, Lab Corp has 36 primary lab locations across the United States. Which one am I going to?" I inquired.
"It's their headquarters in Burlington, North Carolina," she meekly responded, fearing my reaction.
And react I did.
"North Carolina!"
"Yes," she calmly affirmed.
"But I don't want to," almost slipped out of my mouth before I remembered the demon who claimed to be an angel ruling my house, causing me to change my mind.
"And when do I leave?"
"Tomorrow. Don't worry, we'll assign other capable hands to assist you."
"Is Samantha going too?" I asked excitedly, hoping that this trip wouldn't be so bad.
"No," came the crisp reply.
No? My excitement immediately deflated.
"I guess I'll be leaving work early today to make necessary arrangements," I stated, bringing the conversation to an end.
What a Monday!
An hour dragged by, the weight of worry for my grandmother pressing on my mind like a relentless storm. Unable to resist the gnawing uncertainty any longer, I reached for my phone and dialed Adonis's number. The anticipation hummed in the air as each ring echoed through the receiver, each second stretching into eternity.
Finally, Adonis's voice crackled through the line, his tone cautious yet undeniably guilty. I wasted no time, firing my questions like arrows aimed at the heart of the matter. Where was she? Why hadn't she reached out? And then, like a blade plunging into my chest, his words cut through the air: she had returned three days ago.
Blame flowed from my lips like a venomous river, pouring onto Adonis. How dare he keep this from me? The anger pulsed within me, fueling my determination to confront my grandmother, to demand an explanation for her absence. I waited for her. She said she was embarking on a journey to find out the reason for my memory loss, so why then didn't she reach out to me as soon as she got back?
Resolute, I declared my intent to visit her. Adonis, feigning ignorance, spoke of her being away from the opulent confines of her mansion. But I knew just where to find her.