Designed with a Destiny (2 page)

You have a terrible burning itch, and you
must scratch yourself now,
I mentally suggest to the closest
guard and he starts to squirm. He glances around the room before
reaching down and discreetly trying to scratch himself. I
relentlessly keep the thought planted in his mind, even introducing
the idea of ants crawling around in his underwear. He breaks out in
a light sweat and looks over at the other guard who is now watching
him with curiosity. When he reaches down to scratch again, he isn’t
so discreet as he almost claws the skin through his pants drawing
not only wide eyes from the guard standing next to him, but from a
few members of the audience. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep
from giggling which gives me yet another idea.

Laugh,
I mentally command the second
guard, and he instantly obeys, putting his hand over his mouth as
he silently chuckles.

You think it’s funny as hell. Laugh
harder.

His face contorts and his shoulders shake
violently as he works himself into a laughing fit, trying
desperately not to draw attention to himself. He glances in our
direction, undoubtedly checking to see if his boss has noticed, and
his face turns pink when Zane glares at him. Biting hard on his
lower lip he looks up at the ceiling in an attempt to control
himself but with one last suggestion from me, he looks at his buddy
and busts up laughing so hard he clutches his stomach and stumbles
back against the wall. Interestingly enough, in that moment, his
color screening changes to an almost solid orange. Zane cusses
under his breath, and the first guard looks murderously at his
laughing cohort. He’s in an all-out war with his body now,
scratching mercilessly not only his private parts, but his legs,
chest, and back as well. It’s as if my suggestion has taken on a
life of its own and I watch with fascination as it builds in
intensity.

“Zane, can you please get your men under
control,” Mr. Harrington says through clenched teeth, raising an
eyebrow judgmentally as if Zane alone is responsible for the two’s
behavior.

“Get out!” Zane barks pointing at the exit
door, and the guards waste no time making a hasty departure. Once
through the door, the first guard pauses in mauling himself long
enough to slug the second one in the gut, then the door slams shut
behind them.

With the exception of an occasional snicker,
the auditorium is quiet, all eyes on Mr. Harrington who has his
eyes locked on me and Zane. I smile in response.

“Gentlemen, I think this may be a good time
to take a break. Zane, I trust you’ve made proper arrangements for
our guests?” he says with a hint of sarcasm.

Zane rises and ignoring his father turns to
address the group. “If you’ll follow me, there are drivers waiting
to take us to the main residence where lunch will be served,” he
says eloquently, reverting to his posh mannerisms.

“Cat, shall we?” he says, offering me his
arm which I readily take, causing several of the men to raise their
eyebrows in suspicion.
Relax fellas, it’s just an energy
thing
, I feel like saying out loud just to clear any question
of my loyalties.

“Zane, not so fast—the scientists and I
would like to have a private conversation with Miss Cataryn. You
can accompany the others to the house and we’ll be along shortly,”
he says in a honeyed voice that sends shivers down my spine.

Zane stiffens and glowers at his father. “I
already told you no,” he replies thickly. I clench his hand tighter
and feel my palm tingle when I center all of my energy down my arm,
using the technique Lawrence taught me to heal my ankle. I figured
if it could work on an injury, why not on the human soul.
You’re
on my side, Zane. You’ll do what’s right from now on,
I affirm
to him in thought.

“I think Cat needs to get something to eat.
I believe she’s feeling a little faint. As I said before, your
discussion will have to wait—father,” Zane says firmly, stressing
the word father.

I nod in agreement and sway on my feet for
added effect. I can’t be sure if Zane’s actions are purely with my
best interest in mind or if he just likes antagonizing his father.
I suspect it’s a little of both. The question is why.

“Perhaps we should leave it to a members'
vote,” Mr. Harrington says smugly obviously confident of the
outcome. Zane glances at the exit door where his men once stood and
his jaw tightens.

The fact that I’m in the middle of a
tug-of-war with the father and son team, has me somewhat intrigued
as to what the Senior Harrington wants with me and why Zane is
opposed to letting him have it, so I change my mind about leaving
and take matters into my own hands.

“Fine, you want to talk—let’s talk,” I say,
looking in the eyes of the man, who only moments earlier, was
unknowingly close to meeting his creator. He nods at the crowd and
one by one the men get up and file out of the room, leaving four
stereotypical looking scientists and two mafia types behind. I look
up at Zane and am surprised to see a look of fear in his eyes. He
lets go of my hand and instead of leaving with the others, takes
the seat next to me.

Without saying a word, Mr. Harrington points
the remote over his shoulder at the screen behind him, and the
video of the earthquake is swapped for a video of me in the
underground apartment. It shows me in a trance like state staring
at the exit door and moments later leaving the apartment,
unescorted. The scene then switches to me sitting on the bench
outside next to Sophia, once again staring straight ahead at
seemingly nothing. Nothing that is until the camera pans out and
captures a single tumbleweed blowing unnaturally around the
otherwise still yard. It’s clear to even me that the tumbleweed
follows wherever my eyes go, whether it’s rolling zigzag over the
ground or flying straight up in the air, my eye movement always
precedes the direction of the rogue tumbleweed.

Mr. Harrington clicks the video off and
there is a deafening silence in the room before he says, “Let’s
talk, shall we, Mrs. Callahan.”

Cat told me that a man by the name of
Lawrence was communicating telepathically with her and went as far
as to declare her the Golden GEM. Now, as I look into the eyes of
the old man smiling up at me, I know for sure it’s him.

“How do you know about my wife?” I demand,
as Claire approaches my side. We both seem to hold our breath
waiting for his answer.

“I’m Dr. Emerick. I worked closely with Dr.
Kappel at CGEM,” he says hoarsely, in between a series of coughing
fits that leave him gasping for air.

Claire looks at me for approval before
placing her small hands on his chest. Her ability to heal was a
gift none of us wanted advertised, and yet it was proving too
invaluable to withhold, especially for the old man who held the
answers to so many important questions. Right away, his coughing
subsides, and his face relaxes as he closes his eyes inhaling
deeply through his nose.

“Ah, you have the gift,” he whispers,
surprising both of us and causing Claire to jerk her hands
away.

“Don’t be afraid Claire—I’m on your side,”
he says softly, his eyes shimmering with tears. His face is a
canvas of deep wrinkles and creases; well-worn with his life
experiences. If I were judging by his physical appearance alone, I
would guess him to be at least in his seventies. But when I look
closely, I see an underlying vitality and spark of youthfulness
that makes me wonder. He stares at Claire for a few seconds before
she finally smiles and nods her head, as if agreeing to some
unspoken understanding. She positions her hands back over his
torso, moving them around until they find a place on each side of
his chest, then tilts her head up to the ceiling, and takes a deep
breath in, holding it for close to a minute before slowly exhaling,
making a soft blowing sound through her nose.

***

Brandon is the first to detect the steady
hum of an airplane engine flying high overhead. He cocks his head
to one side and listens intently for several seconds before
murmuring, “Yep, they’re on final approach. We better get going.”
In one swift movement, he scoops the distraught girl lying on the
floor up in his arms, and she weakly protests, mumbling, “Let me
go. It might be my sister flying in.”

“Is your sister a pilot?” Brandon stops and
asks, taking a closer look at the girl in his arms.

“Yes—she flies for the Harringtons and they
send her here once in a while to drop off supplies. I haven’t seen
her in almost a month. You have no idea how worried I’ve been.”

The minute the words leave her mouth, I see
she regrets the blunder, but it’s too late for me.

“You have the nerve to expect sympathy from
us?” I ask incredulously. “You’ve participated in kidnapping,
imprisonment and extortion, robbing Claire of every single person
in her family, and you expect us to have pity on you because you
want to see your sister!” I say, raising my voice as my body heats
up inside. She cowers against Brandon, her eyes filling with tears,
and Lawrence reaches up placing a frail hand on my arm, instantly
stopping my tirade.

“
Whoa, dude—calm down. She may know where
the others are and you’re not going to coax information from her by
scaring her to death,”
Brandon chides telepathically, before
turning to the girl.

“By the way, since things are about to get a
little personal here, I guess I should introduce myself. I’m
Brandon,” he says with a crooked smile.

“What do you mean by personal?” she replies,
her eyes widening with fear as he starts to carry her towards the
back bedroom.

“Your shirt is ripped and I think it would
be a good idea if you change your clothes. With the whole knife
incident I don’t really trust leaving…”

“My name’s Sophia and if you step one foot
through my bedroom door…” She warns, managing to wrestle free, even
with one hand tightly clutching her torn shirt.

“We can’t leave you alone, so it’s either me
or my sidekick,” he says, pointing a thumb at Claire who he’s
already silently summoned to help. “Don’t let her size fool you,
she’s far more dangerous than I am,” he cautions winking at Claire,
who just rolls her eyes and grabs Sophia’s arm, pulling her into
the bedroom. “Wait! What’s your sister’s name?” he asks leaning his
head through the door. If anyone would know a female pilot flying
general aviation, it would be him.

“Andrea. Why do you want to know?” she asks
suspiciously.

“I know a lot of people in the aviation
industry, that’s all,” he says shrugging his shoulder and turning
to walk away. I can tell by his face that he knows the name, even
before I hear him confirm it mentally to me.
“Andrea
Strizich,”
he says as if I should know who she is too.

“
Someone you’ve slept with I
presume?”
I silently jab.

“
Nope…Bernie got the DNA results from the
tissue recovered at the crash site. Andrea Strizich was identified
as the pilot flying the plane,”
he says wryly, stunning me with
the announcement.

“
Are you sure?”

“
Yeah, I’m sure. Bernie sent me the file
to see if I recognized her, and the victim’s photos are a dead
ringer for this girl. I’d bet my life it’s the sister.”

“
Do you think we should tell
her?”

“
No way…not here,”
he says
quickly.

“
But it might change her mind about
helping…”

Claire interrupts our mental conversation
when she returns with Sophia. “There are six men that are headed
this way in a black SUV,” she announces out loud, causing Sophia to
look at Brandon with a panicked expression.

“If we go out the way we came in, they’ll
never see us,” I respond calmly. It wasn’t as if six guys armed or
not, posed much of a threat to us. I just didn’t want our actions
to result in punishment to my family, so I think hard on how to
avoid a confrontation altogether.

“Are we taking these two with us?” Austin
asks, looking at Dr. Emerick skeptically as if trying to decide if
the old man will survive the trip.

“They’ll never let you leave with me—I know
too much. Your only chance of getting out of here is to leave me
behind,” Sophia says quickly. “Besides, I’ll slow you down. Go now!
Here’s a blanket for Dr. Emerick,” she adds, tossing it to me, and
opening the door leading to the exit stairwell.

“Oh no you don’t—you’re coming with us. I’ll
carry you,” Brandon says firmly, sweeping her up in his arms again
before she has the chance to move out of his way. The stubborn look
on his face is a departure from the chronically bemused look
normally fixed there. “You said yourself that they would kill you.
What kind of a gentleman would I be if I left a pretty young lady
alone to face a certain gruesome death at the hands of a ruthless
bastard?” he says, now smiling.

“The kind that lets me decide for myself,”
she replies softly. He stares down at her for a moment, before
reluctantly setting her back down, not readily removing his arm
from around her waist. “We can offer you a safe place to stay and
if you help us find their family, we’ll help you find yours. It has
to be a better offer than this,” he says, motioning to the dingy
apartment. Her eyes slowly travel around the room, finally settling
on Claire who is attending to Dr. Emerick. It’s only then that her
face shows the first signs of uncertainty.

“You can share a room with me,” Claire
offers, not lacking in sincerity. Sophia swallows hard and runs her
hand through her long dark hair. The offer is enough to crack her
like an eggshell, and her face contorts as a muffled sob escapes
her throat. Having nowhere else to turn, she buries her head in
Brandon’s chest, bursting into tears.