Hunted (Dark Secrets Book 1) (20 page)

I missed her. I loved her. Could I forgive her?

Theron came in, balancing two plates and a notebook and holding a pen in his teeth. I sat up and took the plates. Lunch.

"Thanks," I said.

"You're welcome. Meatball grinders. They smell good."

He produced two cans of Coke from his back pockets in a dramatic manner, attempting to make me smile.

About halfway through the meal I said, "Okay, do it."

"Do what?" he asked.

"Tell me what you found during your research," I started. "Oh, and by the way, thanks for what you've done. If I could have used a computer I would have learned this about her a long time ago. You did something I couldn't and found out stuff that could… could make some sense of my world."

He smiled with kind and shy satisfaction and nodded.

"Here's my elementary explanation," he said. "Quantum physics deals with energy. There is a theory that wormholes connect worlds—either in the form of time travel or interstellar or inter-dimensional travel. According to the theories—"

"That's all they are, theories.
They've never been proven or used," I interjected.

He ignored my objection. "These bridges are everywhere, connecting alternate universes so that individuals or objects can jump ('quantum leap' they call it) through the bridges or holes to the other universe. Now, Albert Einstein and Nathan Rosen came up with scientific and mathematical equations for bridge possibilities. But their work got pushed aside because they deduced that anything attempting to travel through would be crushed. Then came along a scientist named Roy Kerr who figured out that if the object traveled through the bridge's inner ring, it wouldn't be crushed but would cross safely through."

"You're hurting my brain," I whined.

"Just stay with me here," he laughed. "In the 1980's a cosmologist named Kip Thorne came up with this idea for something called 'exotic matter.'" He paused.

"Exotic matter," I echoed back. He was getting excited.

"Exotic matter was some type of material that the traveler used that held the bridge open and stabilized it. That way whatever was crossing through wasn't obliterated or lost."

"So far so good."

"Some experts imagined metal plates, electrical fields and enclosed riding machines. Others discussed a cylinder constructed from exotic matter that allows the voyager to sit safely inside while the exotic matter does all the work to keep the bridge open. That would allow the voyager to get to the other side. And that got me thinking
… " He stared even more excitedly into my eyes, coaxing telepathic rays to deliver his thoughts. But I wasn't receiving them.

"And?" I encouraged.

"Freya, the Takers' silver cords! What if they're designed from exotic matter?"

I was way too stunned to compute what Theron was saying. My mouth gaped open. Did Theron really just make sense of all that while putting his own theory into the mix?

He continued, "The Takers can't let go of the cord or leave it behind. If they do they're stuck here! That's why Blake's Taker didn't disappear—because Blake cut his cord! Think about it… that's how they're removing their victims. The same way they came here—by wrapping them in the exotic matter."

I stared out into the deep waters. Sunlight played across the surface and arched along with each ripple and wave like a graceful supernatural acrobat. So somehow it was my mother's research that allowed all this to happen and that's why she blamed herself. It could make sense too
—if Theron's theory was correct—that
maybe
she was able to open a portal from one country on
Earth
to another country on Earth. That would be more realistic.

"I'm not one hundred percent sold but, as irrational as it sounds, it seems like you put together a decent theory," I said slowly.

Theron looked pleased with himself and scarfed down the rest of his lunch. When he was finished he announced, "I have some more research to finish up and it will probably take a while. You want to come with me?"

"No." My mind was tired. "I'll meet you later in the cabin."

He leaned over and kissed the top of my head. "I'll see you there then." And he walked away.

I gazed back out at the water shimmering like magical nymphs and relived my mother's wild stories that I had worked so hard to forget.

~

My mother stroked my hair back. Her crystal blue eyes reflected the summer sky and her wavy blond hair draped freely over both of her shoulders.

"But, Mama, I wanted yellow hair so we could be the same!" I cried in protest.

"Darling, your black hair looks so pretty. And it's only for a little while, Freya. I promise we'll make our hair the same color again very soon," she cooed soothingly.

"Why Mama? Why can't we be the same?" I argued.

"Those bad men we saw yesterday."

"In those fancy suits?"

"Yes, holding the silver cords."

I nodded. They had scared me. "They made those people at the zoo cry."

"It's hard to understand but we have to be especially careful of them because it's you and me they really want to hurt. That's why we camp out and live alone, Freya. I don't want to make you scared, I want to make you cautious and smart." She tapped her finger to her temple. "If we look a little different and they come after us, I can protect you better." A pained expression crossed her face, but in a flash she masked it with confidence.

"I don't understand," I whimpered.

"If they ever get that close again, I'll push you away from me. If our hair isn't the same color we may be able to trick them! They won't know I'm your mother." She tried saying this in a bright tone. It hadn't worked.

"I would fight them!" I said.

"No Freya! Don't you try to help me. I want you to run away as fast as you can, do you understand me?" She was serious.

I nodded through my tears.

~

The memory of my mother's face blurred at the edges, like watercolors washed away by the rain. I tried to be strong, but in fact I felt quite the opposite. I felt nine years old again. I had forgotten the Takers had shown up when I was that young. I wondered if they were around even before that incident and it had either been buried in my memory or my mother had never told me.

I couldn't sit any longer. After I had a bagel from the mess hall, I stayed in the sanctuary of the cabin, practicing my Swedish skills. I lay back flat against the bed with my arms above me, holding the English to Swedish dictionary over my face.

"Hello:
Hej
—pronounced HAY

Good bye:
Hejda
—pronounced HAY-DOH

Yes:
Ja
—Pronounced YAH

No:
Nej
—Pronounced NAY

Please:
Snalla
—Pronounced SNELL-A

Thank you:
Tack
—Pronounced TAHK"

Theron bounded into the cabin in high spirits. He proceeded to leap on top of me, knocking my book to the floor, and then started performing push-ups over me.

He pushed up. "I," he said—then pushed down, kissing me on my left cheek—pushed up—"have everything we need"—pushed down, kissing me again, this time on my right cheek—pushed back up—"ready for us"—pushed down with a kiss to my forehead—pushed up—"for when we arrive"—he pushed down and landed a kiss to my nose—pushed up—"in Stockholm, which is tomorrow." He finished his sentence with a lingering kiss to my lips.

"How so?" I asked, smiling when our lips parted.

"Well"—he rolled over me to the side of the bed and propped his head up on his hand— "our hotel accommodations are reserved, I printed out a local map with area landmarks and sites (including Stockholm University) highlighted and even have the perfect running route through Djurgarden Island where our hotel is and… ahh, I don't know if I should tell you," he teased.

"Oh, you can trust me."

"I don't know. How can I be sure?"

"I did save your life," I tried.

"True, but I saved yours right back," he countered. His breath played over my cheek. "What will you give me in return if I tell you?"

"A kiss?" I offered.

"Perfect trade." He took his kiss from my lips then leaned back on his elbow. "You have a five-thirty appointment with professor Mikkelsson tomorrow."

I sat up, beaming. "How did you arrange that?"

"I called and told him we were Swedish-American family genealogists researching the Mikkelsson line." He looked proud.

"That was a brilliant fabrication," I rewarded.

"Thanks. I didn't like lying but I didn't want to tell him the truth and have him hang up and never speak to us."

"I agree. I don't think you had a choice."

"We should get good night's sleep tonight. Captain Max said we'd be floating past Kronborg Castle at sunrise. It will be a scenic venture to Stockholm—we don't want to miss it."

"Thanks," I said.

"For what?"

"Being so wonderful." I leaned down and gave him a kiss.

Someone knocked at our door. "It's Captain Max."

Theron got up to answer it, while I straightened my hair. Max stood in the doorway holding two brown paper bags. "I come bearing presents."

"Chinese food?" I asked. The delicious aroma filled the tiny room.

"Sweet and sour
—one of Chef's specialties. It's for the two of you. I've come to say goodbye to you personally. I will be utterly occupied tomorrow and won't get the chance again," Captain Max explained.

"It's been a spectacular voyage," Theron said.

I added, "Yes, thank you for your incredible hospitality." Then I remembered. "Oh. You'll probably need these back," I said as I started to remove the gold band from my ring finger. "Thank you for trusting us and letting us use them."

"No, please. I insist you keep them
—as a gift. I know the two of you are not on a holiday. Scarlett brought me up to speed, and don't be worrying, she knows I'm trustworthy. The journey the two of you are on is dangerous and commendable," Captain Max said.

"There is a very interesting story behind those rings. They belonged to a Jewish couple who were trying to escape occupied Germany
—a rabbi and his wife. The rabbi begged an Austrian sea captain to accept the rings as payment for their safe passage. The captain didn't want to accept the gift and told the couple he would give them safe passage for free. But the rabbi told him that everything he and his wife possessed had been stripped away from them. He wanted the captain to take the rings as payment so they could keep their dignity. The good captain brought them to the shores of Britain and returned their rings to the rabbi's coat without them knowing it." Captain Max smiled.

"The rabbi and his wife were my parents, and they passed the rings to me. They wanted them to stay in the family, but I never had any children of my own." He took my hand, the one with the ring, and smiled brightly. "If I had a daughter, I'd want her to be smart and brave and beautiful, just like you. The rings are yours," he said acknowledging both Theron and I. "They are good luck now
—a talisman if you will. They brought safe passage and saved the lives of my parents. I believe they can do the same for you." Captain Max kissed the back of my hand.

I reached my arms around his neck and hugged him. "Thank you so much. I promise to take care of them."

Theron reached out and shook his hand. "Yes, thank you, sir."

Captain Max gave us his phone number written on a card. "Please, I'll be thinking of the two of you very often
… stay in touch."

We promised we would.

"I've not seen two people so deeply in love in such a long time. Don't let anyone or anything ever pull you apart. Take care of one another." And, with that, he turned and left the cabin.

Theron and I turned to each other and smiled shyly. We ate quietly, cleaned up and went to sleep early.

~

"Hurry, Freya, wake up. We're rounding Denmark and it's almost sunrise!" Theron was pushing my shoulder back and forth. It reminded me of Christmas morning with Piper when she came into my room shaking me awake saying that Santa had come.

I rolled out of bed, grabbed some clean clothes off the shelf and went into the bathroom.

"I got us two mugs of hot chocolate to take with us," Theron called through the door.

I finished quickly and threw my windbreaker over my head, zipping it up as we ran up onto the deck. We positioned ourselves on the right side of the ship and rested our arms and cocoa cups on the wide polished railings. Kronborg Castle sprawled majestically on the shores of Oresund Sound.

"I read online that Kronborg Castle was built in the Renaissance Period and was depicted in Shakespeare's
Hamlet
," Theron said. The castle was proudly displayed upon a vast walled pedestal that was surrounded by a moat. Its stately towers stood heavenward.

"'Doubt thou the stars are fire;

Doubt that the sun doth move;

Doubt truth to be a liar;

But never doubt I love,'" I recited.

"That was beautiful," Theron said in response, looking at me now.

"That was from
Hamlet
," I said, and he captured my hand in his.

We stayed and watched as the great ship spilled into the Baltic Sea. We walked around a while before having a good breakfast, and then we went back to the cabin and packed our backpacks. When everything was ready we went back onto the deck as our ship pulled into the Port of Stockholm. I realized that the closer we got to our destination, the deeper a feeling of foreboding terrorized my thoughts. I tried to shake it.
Only nerves.

As we stepped off onto the docks we were greeted by the most picturesque city I'd ever seen. Stockholm's old and new personalities played together like a vibrant symphony. Modern colorful neon signs, sculptures, immense glass storefronts and art-deco buildings blended seamlessly with Renaissance and Art Nouveau architectural styles, with intense hues of gold, red, yellow and orange, cobblestone streets and open air markets. The city was an amalgam of fast-paced, dynamic modern technology with old-world charm. I loved it immediately and couldn't wait to become more immersed in its fairytale likeness.

Once we were on campus I felt like a kid in a candy store! Here I was at one of the world's most prestigious universities—where my mother had worked and studied. No one knew who we were. With our backpacks, we could have been students. We fit right in—young people were scattered around, talking in clusters, spread out in the grass taking notes, sitting on benches with their noses in thick text books. For just a little while, I got to pretend that I fit in.

We stopped beside a "
You are here"
sign.

"There it is." Theron pointed to the map. "The AlbaNova University Center for Physics, Astronomy and Biotechnology."

All of a sudden I felt freaked out again. This yin yang thing was getting on my nerves. "I feel all nervous," I said to Theron.

"I think it's totally natural in this circumstance," he replied thoughtfully.

"I guess." I had a twist in the pit of my stomach but I figured he was spot on—it would be natural to be freaked out. This guy Mikkelsson could hold the key to my mother's whereabouts.

We continued to walk until we came to the great dome that crowned the center of the AlbaNova Observatory. A long white building scrolled out from it, arching gracefully into the manicured lawn.

Theron asked, "Are you ready?"

"Oh yeah," I crowed boldly, but that twist was still gnawing on my insides.
Relax, Freya.

Theron pushed open the wide glass door and I stepped into the next unknown chapter of my future.

A black encased wall directory with little white letters read, "
Professor Mikkelsson
—
Third Floor
—
Room 401."
I insisted we take the stairs. Activity always released tension, and I had enough to spare! When we reached the sign for the third floor, Theron opened a heavy door and we ventured down a long hallway with squeaky, polished linoleum floors.

We were there too quickly.
Professor Mikkelsson Room 401.
I stopped and stared at the plain white door.

"It won't open until you knock," Theron whispered into my ear.

I inhaled deeply and let my knuckles rap on the wood. "It's open," a voice called.

Theron and I exchanged glances, and he opened the door.

"So, are you my five-thirty Mikkelsson genealogists?" a man said, looking up from his papers. He stood to greet us from behind his large desk.

He was not what I expected. I wasn't sure
what
I had expected—I just knew he wasn't it. He was about 5'7", thin and athletic looking. He had dark bushy hair and sported a thick, dark mustache. He had a pleasant smile. Not much decor around his office—no family pictures, vacation scenes or art—just his diplomas and certificates hung from the walls.

"Nice to meet you," he said, extending his hand to us.

I shook his hand. "Professor, I'm afraid we're not genealogists. We're here on personal business," I admitted apologetically.

"So you are not genealogists?" he asked, obviously piqued.

"No, sir, we're not," Theron put in.

Professor Mikkelsson eyed us suspiciously. "Then what business is so important that you felt it necessary to lie in order to secure my time?" He spoke sternly.

"Anna Gyllenhaal." I said her name and searched for a spark of recognition.

"What about her?" he quipped sharply. "That story has been told and is now old news. I will thank you to not bother me any further."

I was losing him and my grip. He just dismissed us and was sitting back down. In desperation I said, "She is my mother."

He fell into his white leather-backed chair and stared at me like an undiscovered treasure. After a moment his mouth gaped open, making me feel like an animal at a zoo exhibit that he couldn't move on from.

"Professor?" Theron broke the gaze.

"Oh, yes, yes. Pardon my manners. Please, sit down." He gestured to the seats in front of his desk.

Theron pulled a chair out for me to sit in then sat in the chair to my left. We sat longer while the professor scrutinized me further. I was starting to feel angry and was about to ask him what his problem was when Theron spoke up. "We've come a long way to meet with you. I assume you knew Ms. Gyllenhaal?"

Mikkelsson didn't break his gaze. "What is your name girl?"

Do I tell him the truth or employ an alias?
My mind raced.

"Freya," I said truthfully.

A wide smile spread across his face, but I couldn't interpret it. I felt defensive.

"Why would I lie?"

He didn't answer. That sense of foreboding seeped into every fiber of my being. I wished I was still in Homochitto forest—
Yes, Theron, I will stay here with you until this whole thing blows over, because things always do blow over in time. I don't have to go to any university or have a career.
My mind stammered.
Or maybe I could get false papers
—
a forged birth certificate, high school transcripts, social security numbers
—
how do illegal aliens do it?
Scarlett could whip something up.
The thoughts dripped from my mind and into my throat sticking to the edges like super glue.