"I'm still cold. Let's go back to the cabin," I said, my voice full of emotion.
We got into our cabin and closed the door behind us. Next thing I knew, he had me pressed up against the wall. His entire body was flush against mine. Our hungry kisses deepened with desire—they were electrified and fervent. I unbuttoned the rest of his shirt, stripped it from his shoulders and pulled it down his arms until it fell to the floor. He pushed his jacket off of my body. It met with his shirt. He slid his hands down my rib cage and followed my arms to my hands until he cradled my left hand in his and lifted it into the light. His thumbs gently grazed over the golden band on my finger. He brought it to his lips, softly kissing both the ring and my finger. He closed his eyes, shifting some of the intensity that had taken over the both of us.
His breathing steadied slightly and he locked his eyes onto mine. "I vow with all of the blood in my body to protect you, to take care of you—to love you, Freya. Always."
He let go of my hand and put both his own hands around my face and under my hair, kissing me ardently.
He said, “love you.”
A new hunger boiled in my belly. I let myself feel it, enjoy it, savor it.
Too quickly he paused and took a small but deliberate step back.
"What is it?" I asked. "What's wrong?'
"Nothing, nothing at all," he promised. His breath labored in and out of his chest. "It's just that—when this happens between us, I want it to be perfect. There are still so many things I need to say—that I need to tell you and that I want you to know about me—before." His eyes filled with emotion. "I want everything we do to add to us—to who we are." His hand cradled my face while his thumb gently stroked my cheekbone, but he still held me at arms' length.
I nodded. He'd used the word, love. I couldn't think straight.
He continued, "I'm going to go take a walk—maybe douse these flames." He spun on his heel, walked to the door and gripped the doorknob, opening it. He hesitated and turned back to me. "You are so amazingly beautiful inside and out—you're good and kind, loyal and gutsy. You're genuine. I've never known anyone like you Freya. And everything I said—I meant."
Next thing I knew he was walking straight back to me in long strides and pulling me into another powerful kiss, full of love and wanting. We let the emotions ebb. He gently released me, turned and fled the room, closing the door securely behind him.
Love you.
I stood there, dazed. The events of the entire magical evening washed over me—and, oh, that kiss!
I squealed with excitement, jumped into the air and landed on my back on the bed. Another squeal of joy rippled through me as I kicked my legs and pounded my fists against the mattress. I had to be the happiest girl in the universe! I flipped onto my stomach, my gorgeous dress swishing around me. I held my left hand up to the light and examined the ring on my finger. Love you.
I better get a hold of myself before he gets back, I thought reasonably.
I stepped out of my princess gown, hung it on a hanger in the closet and changed into a T-shirt and sweats. I brushed my teeth and washed my face then climbed into the bed, pulling the covers up over me.
The magic still lingered. I fell asleep holding my left hand to my heart, remembering Theron's words and the feel of his lips on my hand.
Chapter 20 Wild Stories
During my morning jog I formulated a nonchalant way to ask Dr. Bjorkman about professors at the University of Sweden.
"Just do it," Theron said plaintively. "He doesn't know it's your mother and he doesn't need any details. You can just say she was a longtime friend of your family's that you fell out of touch with and that, since he's from the area and teaches at a Swedish university, he may have known her."
"If it's so simple, why do I feel so nervous?" I asked.
"Because it's important to you," he said with kind eyes.
"Would you come with me?"
"Sure," he said. "I think we should use the ship's computer to look her up online and do some research before we get there."
Great! Here comes my paranoia and neurosis… "Yeah, I can… "—Wear a ski mask, I thought sarcastically. And hide behind you—"sit back and let you bounce info off me," I finished.
"Right, because you're concerned the Takers can see you through the computer screen. For someone who says she doesn't believe in all the wild stories you certainly live like you do." His eyes were still soft even though the words stung.
I stopped in mid-stride.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"You don't have anything to be sorry about. You're right. I'm sorry."
"What do you have to be sorry for?"
"For being brainwashed by my lunatic mom!"
"You're just trying to figure this thing out—and you're doing a good job; look where you are."
I nodded. "Thanks."
We found Dr. Bjorkman on the upper deck sprawled in a reclining chair, soaking up the sun and enjoying a novel.
"We're sorry to interrupt you, Dr. Bjorkman, but we were wondering if we could take a few minutes of your time?" Wow! I sounded as sterile as a telemarketer. And, worse, I felt fear twisting my stomach up in knots. It's only a few questions, Freya, get a grip!
"Of course," he said amiably. "What can I help you with?"
"While Theron and I are in Sweden, I wanted to try locating a family friend we fell out of touch with a while back. She used to work or may still be working at one of the Swedish universities… " My heart flipped into my throat and I couldn't finish my sentence.
"I'd be more than happy to help you," Dr. Bjorkman said, shifting in his seat to sit up. He put his hand to his face to block the sun as he looked up at us. Theron and I noticed and sat together on a chair next to him. "Ah, better. Now I can see you. What is her name?" he asked.
So innocent a question, I thought. But why did I feel tears sneaking into my eyes? Because I was afraid I'd fallen for all of my mother's wild stories and put myself and Theron out here on a ship in the middle of the Atlantic for nothing! I pushed these thoughts away.
"Anna, Anna Catten. She may have worked with Professor Mikkelsson at Stockholm University." I did it! I said it. Her name. Breathe.
"Anna is, of course, a very popular name in Sweden," he said. "But I am not acquainted with an Anna Catten. I do know Dr. Mikkelsson. He is professor of quantum mechanics at Stockholm. He gives lectures worldwide." A memory played across his face. "Decades ago, he worked with a young scientist named Anna Gyllenhaal. I remember her because"—He looked around him then back to us—"well, she was very beautiful. I asked her to dinner once, but she was very dedicated to her research. She headed the Bifrost project and won the Nobel Prize. Her work concerned elements of the Einstien-Rosen bridge, string theory, solid-state theory, wormholes and atom repositioning."
My body went stone cold. Could the two Annas be the same person?
"I believe Mikkelsson was personable, perhaps you could reach him through the university's email?" Dr. Bjorkman suggested.
"Thanks so much," Theron said as he shook Dr. Bjorkman's hand.
"Yes, thank you," I managed.
We walked to the ship's Internet bar. It was a small cabin containing three computers with three comfy, black leather swivel chairs, a coffee machine and small fridge full of sodas and juices. Theron didn't say anything. It was like he was waiting for me to start a conversation, but I didn't have it in me. I sank into a chair and pulled my knees up to my chest. I felt small. Very small. But I didn't know why.
Theron grabbed a couple of Sprite Zeroes, handed one to me and then popped the top on his own and sat in front of a computer. He moved the mouse and the screen lit up.
"Google," he said out loud as he typed. "Anna Catten." We waited. "Nothing came back."
"Try Anna Gyllenhaal," I offered. "Maybe it was her maiden name?"
"Anna Gyllenhaal… " he spoke slowly as he typed each letter into the keyboard. "Looks like there's a lot about her. Are you ready?"
NO! I r
aged. "Uh huh."
"Good. There's a picture of her here, Freya. Want to look—confirm it's your mother?"
Slowly, I stood up. My legs prickled with pins and needles. I took a tentative step toward the screen. There was a picture of my mother; just sitting on the computer screen for the entire world to see. She was beautiful—long blond hair hanging over her shoulders. She wore a contemporary black business dress and held a plaque. She was smiling.
"Is that her?" Theron asked.
"Yes," I breathed.
He swallowed hard. "The caption reads that she won the Nobel Prize in Physics and had received funding to begin Project Bifrost with the hopes of creating a wormhole or space bridge that would connect universes."
He turned to judge my expression, but I was speechless. The entire idea was ridiculous… something out of novels and sci-fi movies, not real life, not the world we lived in.
"This theory stole my life and my mother's sanity," I sneered, watching the monitor cautiously as if it were a living creature that could hurt me.
"She doesn't look so crazy, Freya," Theron said in a soothing but questioning tone.
Why did I feel as if a cylinder block was thrust at my head every time my mother came up? And isn't this what I was here for? To find her and to learn the truth? Was I ready for the truth? Did I have a choice?
"Another story printed two years later states that, while she was working in her lab, she was kidnapped by terrorists," Theron read. "Because of the highly classified nature of the project and the probability of confidential Bifrost secrets and technology getting into enemy hands, the coalition of government agencies behind Bifrost dismantled its work, destroyed its data and ended all construction of the bridge. Freya, did you know any of this?" he asked gently.
My mind felt hazy. How could it be that my deepest secrets could be verified in black and white.
"Two years after this, Gyllenhaal was released by her captors. It was reported that she suffered severe post-traumatic stress."
"Stop." I had had enough. "If what this says happened is true, why didn't the governments she worked with protect her? Instead they labeled her mentally ill and threw her into the streets."
"Governments have been known to cover truths."
"You're talking conspiracy theories."
"It happens all the time," he said quietly.
"You don't know what you're talking about." I felt an angry edge creep into my voice.
"Why couldn't her stories be true? What makes you think they're so crazy?"
"You want a reason to leave? Oh, I've got reasons that will make you run for your life!" I turned away from him. I wouldn't be able to look at him when I said it.. "She was a head case—she believed that she had discovered and opened a portal into another universe—a group of planets outside our known solar system. She called the bridge the Bifrost in honor of the ancient Norse myths that claimed it was a bridge the gods used to travel between worlds and universes." It was amazing how my anger could flash so brightly, only to be doused by sadness. "She blamed herself—said it was her fault the Takers were coming—that she had opened the door and that she was the only one who could close it." I found myself in the doorway staring out into the hall.
Theron laid his hand gently on my shoulder. "It's not that crazy, Freya."
"Right! I tell you my mother believes she invented inter-dimensional or universal travel and you say it's not that crazy," I scoffed.
"Scientists have been working on equations and formulas for years. I believe there is room for the possibility," Theron tried.
"My mother kept me hidden in national parks and forests my entire life—out in the back country where we could never be discovered. 'It's not safe for us in the world, Freya.' The government didn't believe her stories about her captivity, that's why she said we had to hide. She said that if we were caught the government and Social Services would lock me up somewhere and haul her off to an asylum. Or, worse—they'd torture both of us for information we didn't have," I raged. "I'm a mess, Theron!"
Then I recalled to him her last moments with me. I remembered them as vividly as if they'd just happened.
~
"Please, Freya, don't cry anymore," my mother had said. "I don't know what else to do. I have no other alternatives. My very presence makes you unsafe. And what I've done is now hurting other people too." Tears had streamed down her face and she couldn't hide her pain. "If I stay they are going to find us, and they'll hurt you."
"But I don't want you to leave me, Mama," I'd cried.
"I know you're only twelve, but I've taught you how to live out here on your own and how to hide and survive. I have to do this, Freya. But I promise, I will do everything in my power to come back to you."
~
"She held me until I cried myself to sleep," I told Theron. "When I woke up the next morning, she was gone."
I sobbed while his strong arms wrapped comfortingly around my shoulders. When it finally subsided he said, "I can believe it all."
"Please just stop. Don't… say anymore," I said slowly. "Or I'll start thinking you're a head case too." I rested my head back on his chest. "Don't leave," I whispered.
"I'm not going anywhere. I'll stay with you as long as you'll have me," he promised, whispering in my ear. "If all of my military training was for this reason—to protect you—then maybe there was a purpose to my life and those years after all. I'll never let you fall, Freya."
After the emotional storm subsided, I walked out on the deck and sat down. Theron had stayed at the computer to do more research on quantum mechanics. I couldn't stay anymore. I rolled the name Gyllenhaal over my tongue. My mother's maiden name, I presumed. She had never talked about my father, let alone being married to him. I had always assumed Catten was her original name. Or—maybe she had just chosen it as an alias. Catten seems a lot more generic than Gyllenhaal.
Certainly if she had traveled to another universe using Bifrost, the government wouldn't have abandoned her like they had—considering they were the ones who funded the project in the first place. And no intelligent person would have used themselves as a guinea pig. The article said she'd been kidnapped by terrorists. Could those terrorists have been the Takers? I supposed it was possible. That would explain why she thought that she had opened the door for them. Maybe she leaked information to them in distress and blamed herself? It seemed possible—a foreign government not allowed onto Project Bifrost becomes disgruntled, swipes the star scientist, forces her to reveal classified information. That in itself didn't seem so wild.
So what happened when she got back? And how did she get back? Maybe they let her go? Maybe she escaped? She was… is pretty resourceful. Oh Lord, maybe I'm a terrorist's child? That would explain the teary-eyed looks. But they weren't fearful, traumatized looks, they were loving, longing looks. All right, don't go there; you can't answer that yet, so stick to the puzzle pieces you have.
Either way, she got away and went to someone for help. They thought she was crazy. Maybe they also thought she was a traitor. That would make a lot of sense. Kidnapped and traumatized, she let out Bifrost secrets, escaped and came home to a government who labeled her a traitor. Perhaps she was—how many people could hold up under duress or torture. That could explain her fear of being caught. It could even explain why she hid us away. My anger and resentment began to morph into something else—pity perhaps. Understanding. Sympathy.
But she still could have put me into foster care. Maybe I could have had a real home. Who would have found out that she was my mother? What could have been, should have been, would have been, didn't matter a bit. The only thing that mattered was the truth of what was. And maybe dealing with that truth could achieve a future goal—forgiveness.
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 grinder
s. 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.
Hunted (Dark Secrets Book 1) Page 19
