Designed to Love (19 page)

***

The fact that I'm being held in a shielded
underground bunker with restricted outdoor time leads me to believe
that someone has knowledge of the Designers' ability to remote
travel. I doubt that Claire and Ronan had the kind of skill to
travel around the world to find me, but the fact that my captors
thought they might, was sort of comforting. It offered me the
slightest ray of hope that they might be able to track me down.

"I made you pancakes this morning," Sophia
says timidly when I come out of the bedroom on the third day in
captivity.

"Not hungry," I reply pushing the plate away
as I plop down in the kitchen chair.

"You've barely eaten anything since you
arrived," she says impatiently, pushing the plate back in front of
me.

The truth is I am hungry, but my stomach is
so twisted in knots that I'm convinced anything I put in it will
come right back up.

"If you don't eat, Mr. Z is going to take
away your outdoor time, Sophia threatens when I don't reply. The
threat is enough to make me cave. My allotted twenty to thirty
minutes of outdoor time was the only thing I looked forward to and
she knew it. Reluctantly I take a first bite and when I don't
immediately regurgitate it, I proceed to take another and another
until eventually I've devoured everything on my plate.

***

The hardest part about being held hostage
for me isn't the confinement itself, but rather the effect I know
it's having on the people I love. For the most part, Mr. Z has
provided me with the basic necessities to make the situation
bearable, but I had no idea what was being said to Ronan and the
other's about my disappearance. I could only imagine the pain he
and Claire must be going through. Sometimes I miss them so much it
makes my heart ache, and the closer we get to Christmas, the worse
it gets.

"Sophia, please ask Mr. Z if I can at least
talk to Ronan and Claire, just one phone call," I plead. She opens
her mouth to say something, then changes her mind and shakes her
head no, casting an uncertain look around the room. I draw my knees
up to my chest, wrapping my arms tightly around them, looking past
her at the mock window with the outdoor landscaped mural.

"How long have you been married?" she
finally asks glancing at the ring on my finger. Her question takes
me by surprise. I have been here for over a week and she has
avoided asking me anything personal.

"Since December 8th. How about you, are you
married?" I ask.

"No, never been."

She sits on the floor in front of me and
leans back against the chair. "So, why did you get married so
young?"

I take a deep breath and smile. "Because I
was one hundred percent, positively sure, that I belonged at his
side forever. I love him from the depth of my soul and I know he
feels the same way about me. Our ages seemed completely irrelevant
to our circumstances."

It's the breakthrough that I'd been waiting
for. I figure if I share some personal information about myself,
she will do the same, but it doesn't quite work out that way. The
only thing I learn about Sophia is that she is twenty-three years
old, and has never been married. But she continues to ask plenty of
questions about me. We spend the next two hours talking and I tell
her about my family and the accident. She seems to be especially
interested in Claire and I carefully craft my stories to
purposefully leave out anything that might allude to her special
abilities.

"Sophia, Claire is only six and she has
already lost a brother and her parents. Can you imagine how scared
she must be?" I whisper hoarsely.

"There is nothing that I have to offer you
in the way of information or influence pertaining to your
particular situation. I'm really sorry," she says with
sincerity.

***

I want nothing more than to despise Sophia
for participating in holding me hostage but it's nearly impossible.
She's genuinely nice and at times seems truly sympathetic to my
situation. I can't fathom what she would be doing mixed up with a
person like Mr. Z. Either the money was really good or she was
being forced into the situation. I liked to think it was the latter
of the two, and that maybe she was as much a victim as me. Reading
between the lines of the little bit of information she gives to me,
I've started to put some of the pieces of the puzzle together.
Although I have no recollection of anything after eating the
grilled cheese sandwich and preparing for my flight home, I know I
was taken from the Great Falls airport. I am being held in an
underground bunker apartment that has an outdoor entrance and exits
into a fenced yard behind what appears to be a vacant house. Where
I am is cold and desolate. There are no sounds of cars, people, or
even dogs barking—just complete silence.

***

The episodes of feeling "pins and needles"
in my head began a day or two after being brought to this place and
have gradually intensified. Even though it isn't particularly
painful, it's almost impossible to carry on a conversation or task
when it's happening, so I'm glad Sophia is content to relax in the
sun. She is sitting on the outdoor bench resting her head against
the back with her face turned up to the sky, her eyes closed, and
earphones on. Occasionally her mouth moves, although I can't hear
any sound coming from her. She's eased up on guarding me during our
outdoor time. She seems satisfied that I've been adequately
discouraged from trying to escape from an area under heavy
surveillance. Today is the worst episode yet. It's the same
sensation I get when my hand or foot has fallen asleep, only in
this case, it's my head.

A thousand nerves fire erratically inside my
skull and the result is a salad mixture of jumbled thoughts that I
would never be able to string together to form a coherent sentence.
The sensation makes me feel weak and dizzy, and I prop myself
against the fence waiting for the episode to pass. I glance down at
my watch and it flashes a predictable 11:11.
It's just a coincidence,
I silently console
myself
,
even though the frequency
of seeing the number eleven every time I happen to glance at the
clock goes beyond the realm of coincidence. It doesn't matter if I
awaken in the middle of the night, or glance at the clock during
the day it always seems to be eleven after the hour or eleven
o'clock on the nose, especially with these episodes.

Even with the reassurance of the fence
behind me, I still have the sensation that I am falling and I lower
my body slowly to the ground. Within a few minutes, the sensation
subsides and I inhale deeply, sighing with relief. The respite is
short lived. It is while crouched against the fence, across the
yard from Sophia, that I first hear the sound of a voice that
belongs to that of a man.

"Cat, do not be afraid. If
you can hear me, listen carefully. I am here to help
you."

"Who's there?" I whisper out loud, looking
over at Sophia who hasn't budged. The softly spoken words are that
of an older gentleman, and for a split second, I think of my
grandfather on my mother's side.

"Who's there?" I say again, only a little
louder, glancing around the barren yard for signs of other human
life.

"You must not be afraid,
Cataryn. My name is Lawrence and I am here to help you. Your DNA
has been activated and you will be experiencing tremendous changes
in the next few days."

This place is haunted
with a ghost or spirit,
is my first thought and my
second thought is even more terrifying.
I'm
going crazy. I'm losing my mind by being locked up. God, I've got
to get out of here.

"Sophia. Sophia help me," I manage to croak,
my mouth suddenly sticky and dry. I attempt to stand up and my
knees buckle from underneath me.

"Sophia!" I cry louder trying to get her
attention.

She remains oblivious to me and the hysteria
begins to rise in my chest as I break out in a cold sweat. I crawl
on my hands and knees through the slushy snow, inching my way
towards her.

"Cataryn, you are not
going crazy. I am as real as Sophia,"
the voice tries to
calm me.

I scream and cover my ears.

"Get me out of here! Get me out of here!"
The sobs come in waves, making my body convulse violently. I barely
register Sophia helping me up and leading me down the stairs to the
apartment.

***

"I'm okay, you can leave now," I say to
Sophia for the third time. I can tell by the way she keeps making
excuses to delay her departure that she is still hesitant to leave
me alone. It's been two days since I had my complete psychiatric
melt down which I've convinced her was just a terrible,
debilitating migraine caused from being cooped up underground. I
would never voluntarily admit that I was hearing voices in my head.
She petitions Mr. Z to allow me extra outdoor time and he agrees.
Today is the first day she's considered leaving me alone for her
daily outing and I couldn't be sure if it was by choice or if it
was by Mr. Z's orders. Either way, I didn't want to be alone. I was
terrified of hearing the voice again and I fight the urge to run
after her, like a toddler for a parent. When I hear the lock turn
on the other side, I swallow hard and blink back tears.

***

The relief I feel when I hear the sound of
the key turning in the lock is profound, but I paint a picture of
indifference to Sophia's arrival and continue humming a melody, as
I casually frost the carrot cake sitting on the counter. She walks
in to the kitchen and sets two bags of groceries on the counter.
When I don't immediately turn around, she clears her throat.

"What?" I ask, instantly becoming suspicious
of her mischievous grin.

She walks over and grabs my hand, leading me
to the kitchen chair. "Sit down and close your eyes," she
orders.

I obey for about a second, then open them to
watch her disappear down the hallway, her long dark braid swinging
across her back as she practically dances to her bedroom. She peeks
her head out of her doorway, and scolds me when she sees me
looking.

"Cat, close your eyes and keep them closed,"
she says impatiently.

This time I wait until she gives me the okay
and when I open them, she is standing in the living room with a
large Christmas package, wrapped in bright colored cloth.

"Sophia, you didn't," I manage to choke out,
feeling suddenly emotional.

"No, Cat. It's not from me. It's from Mr.
Z," she says raising an eyebrow.

I suck in a deep breath.
God that guy gives me the creeps
.

"I don't want it. Take it back to him," I
say coolly.

"I was the one who suggested the gift.
Please just open it for me," she begs.

"If you wanted to petition for a gift on my
behalf, why didn't you request a phone call for me?" I reply
curtly.

She tilts her head to one side and begs me
with her large brown eyes. "Pretend like it's from me if you have
to," she whispers.

Sigh.
"Fine,
give it to me," I say grudgingly.

I have a pretty good idea of what it is,
before I release the bow, letting the cloth fall away, but when I
see it; I gasp. Right away, I recognize it as a Paul Reed Smith
guitar, one of the most expensive guitars on the market and I am
stunned speechless. It is gorgeous and I am almost afraid to touch
it.

"But I hate him. Wh- Why would he give this
to me?" I stammer.

"Because you said that you played and we've
heard how you sing. I just thought it would make the holidays a
little easier," she says shrugging her shoulders and plopping down
on the floor with her legs crisscrossed in front of her.

"Well, let's hear how it sounds. Sing for
me," she says.

I've never suffered from stage fright when
it comes to performing music, but with the room being monitored by
god only knows who, I suddenly feel self conscious. Picking up the
guitar, I let my fingers slide gently over the strings, listening
to the exquisite sound of the chords.

"What do you want to hear?"

"Artist picks," she says enthusiastically,
settling back against the chair.

It takes me but a second to come up with my
choice.

"This is a song I wrote for Ronan. It was
going to be his Christmas gift," I say sadly.

I make it three quarters of the way through
the song, before the tears begin rolling down my cheeks.

***

Sophia is as enthusiastic as me when it
comes to music and we practice every Christmas song we can think of
so that by the time Christmas Day rolls around, we are prepared to
give a live concert. I don't admit it out loud, but the guitar was
a god send in keeping my mind occupied.

We are sitting in the living room, sipping
hot cocoa on Christmas Day, singing carols together when the vision
comes to me. It is as clear in my mind as the objects in the room
and it leaves me gasping for air. There is a sniper in the trees;
outside of the Freeman estate. Bernie and the others are sitting in
the great room. I see Ronan clear as day. He looks anxious, his jaw
tense as he is talking to Bernie. The sniper raises the gun and
aims for a target inside the house.

I stand up abruptly, dropping the guitar.
"Sophia, I don't feel good. I need fresh air now! Please!" I sob,
running for the exit door at the end of the hall.

"Cat, what's wrong?" she says anxiously,
jumping to her feet as well.

"I need fresh air now!" I shout, banging on
the door.

She pushes me aside to unlock the door and I
scramble up the stairs, bursting through the outside door, and
falling to my knees in the ice packed snow.
"GET DOWN NOW"
I silently scream over and over
again. When I hear the sound of gunshot, my entire lunch erupts
from my stomach like a volcano.