Soulmates

by Holly Bourne

  Footsteps.

  I heard someone enter the room.

  There was a voice. American. “Did she have a withdrawal fit?”

  How did they know?

  The person sitting on my bed answered. “Is that what it was?”

  “You were told to look out for the signs. What was she doing beforehand?” The American voice sounded angry. I didn’t know whether to be reassured by this. If he was concerned for my welfare then maybe they weren’t going to kill me. But if not that, then why was I here?

  “Nothing, I promise. She was asleep one minute, twitching about the next.”

  “You can go now. I’ll deal with this.”

  The person got off my bed and left. I curled my legs further up under me.

  “Poppy?”

  The American knew my name. I ducked my head into my arms, trying to hide my face.

  “Poppy? Are you okay?”

  Of course I wasn’t okay. I’d been kidnapped – probably by this random American. Why kidnap someone and then be nice to them? Was he trying to get me to have that Stockholm syndrome thingy?

  I felt my bed creak and figured he must’ve sat on it too.

  “Poppy. I know you’re frightened. I just want you to know that we’re not going to hurt you. You’re safe here.”

  I muttered under my breath.

  “What’s that?”

  I kept my eyes closed but spoke. “That’s exactly what you would say if you were planning to hurt me. You’re just trying to calm me down.”

  “That’s not true.”

  I didn’t believe him.

  “Poppy? Do you mind opening your eyes? I’m here to help you.”

  I didn’t want to. But then again, it was the only way to figure out what was going on.

  Very slowly, I opened them and let my strange prison come into focus. On the end of my bed was a peculiar-looking person. He was wearing a lab coat over a sloppy pair of jeans and jumper. He had long hair and was wearing one of those wooden beaded necklaces that boys who pretend to surf wear. A bit like the one Noah was wearing. Noah…

  “Hello, Poppy.”

  I death-glared him.

  “I’m Rain.”

  “Where am I? Where are my parents? Do they know I’m here?”

  He held out his hands. “Hang on, that’s a lot of questions all at once. I bet more than anything you’re wondering why you’re here?”

  I figured he wasn’t a threat, yet, and struggled up into a seated position. “Are you going to tell me?”

  He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “Unfortunately no, I can’t tell you. But Dr. Beaumont wants to speak to you and she’ll explain everything.”

  “Are you going to kill me?” I thought I might as well ask. Find out sooner rather than later.

  Rain looked shocked. “God no. Of course not. Did you honestly think…?”

  He broke off. “Look. You’re safe. And your boyfriend is here and he’s safe as well.”

  Noah? He was here? My heart started to thud.

  “Let me see him,” I said, a quiver in my voice.

  Another head shake. “I’m afraid that’s not possible right now.”

  Noah was here! Here? I had to see him. What were they doing to him? The raw panic re-emerged. More bile rose in my throat.

  “Let me see him!” I yelled. “I have to see him!”

  The man looked flustered now. “I told you that isn’t possible.”

  The panic turned into rage.

  “YOU HAVE TO LET ME SEE HIM!”

  My breath caught and my vision blurred again. Noah. I needed him. He would make this go away. I needed to hold him, to have him hold me. To stroke my hair and cup my face and tell me it was all a dream and soon we’d wake up in his light-drenched bedroom and laugh at my silly nightmare.

  Although, it was becoming increasingly obvious this wasn’t a nightmare.

  “Noah!” I screamed.

  “Shh, Poppy. Don’t get yourself wound up.”

  “Noah! Noah? Noah. Noah. Noah.”

  My heart sped up to full-whack. I felt light-headed.

  “Poppy?”

  “Noah Noah Noah Noah Noah…”

  And I fell once more into nothingness, welcoming it this time.

  I woke up to whisperings.

  “This is worse than I ever thought it would be.” It was Rain again.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The connection. It’s too strong. We should’ve intervened weeks ago.”

  A pregnant silence.

  I kept my eyes closed and listened.

  “Look at her, she’s a mess. One attack after another. She won’t stop screaming his name in her sleep. And he is just as bad.” Rain was talking about Noah! I tried to control my instinctive reaction, desperate not to alert them to the fact I was awake. “He’s completely retreated into himself, barely spoken, only to ask if she was safe and if he could see her. When he was told he couldn’t, he curled up on the bed and hasn’t moved since. They’re both in a state, Anita! How can we expect them to live normal lives when—”

  The other voice cut him off. I didn’t know this voice. Female. I didn’t like it.

  “Why do you care?”

  “I’m just worried about them.”

  “You need to stop worrying. Remember the threat your life was under yesterday? Have you forgotten already?”

  Silence.

  “No.”

  “Good. Now it’s time to wake this star-crossed lover.”

  They meant me. I pretended I was still unconscious.

  I could feel her standing over my bed.

  “Right, Poppy, up you get. I know you’re not really sleeping.”

  I kept my eyes closed.

  “These theatrics aren’t going to help. I need to talk to you. We can either do this the easy way, with you cooperating, or we can do it through force. It’s up to you, honey.”

  Her voice sounded breezy, but I could detect the evil underneath.

  Reluctantly I opened my eyes and surveyed my kidnapper.

  She was unexpectedly pretty. Tall, thin, designer glasses. Her hair was scraped back laboriously into a tight bun. She wasn’t smiling.

  “That’s better. Are you coming for a little chat?”

  I just stared back, half frightened-rabbit, half stark-raving-angry.

  “Good. Now, I’m afraid we’re going to have to handcuff you.”

  She registered the shock on my face.

  “Just for our own personal safety. It’s merely procedure.”

  Their safety? They were scared I would hurt them? I was the one who’d been kidnapped, sedated and locked up.

  I held out my hands, deciding I’d be difficult once I was out of this damned cell.

  Rain took a pair of cuffs from his coat pocket and clasped them over my wrists. I stood up.

  “Follow me then.”

  My legs felt weak. Partly from fear, partly because I hadn’t used them for who knew how long? My cell opened out onto a small corridor. I looked round frantically for a hint of Noah but couldn’t see him anywhere. The lady held up a pass at a security door, it beeped and slid open to reveal another long corridor. I followed them through.

  The place was like an international space station. Whatever this operation was, it had money. And technology, judging from the eyeball-scanner that opened the doors. We didn’t come across any other people, which was weird. Somehow it didn’t seem like a natural lack of people, but rather an artificially enforced closure, like the building had been deliberately cleared for me.

  We stopped walking when we reached a small white door.

  “We’re here,” the lady said.

  They led me inside, un-handcuffed me and gestured for me to sit. It was a small room. Nothing particularly fancy about it, just a table with three chairs. They sat opposite me. There was a plate of sandwiches on the table and a glass of what looked like banana milk. I examined the plate. Hungry as I was, could I trust it?

  “You sho
uld eat,” the lady said. “It’s Marmite sandwiches and banana milk. Your favourite.”

  I had no idea how they knew this but it made me feel sick.

  “And no, it’s not poisoned,” she said, guessing my thoughts. “As my colleague, Rain, told you earlier, we’re not here to hurt you.”

  My stomach growled, like it could sense the food nearby. I tentatively picked up a sandwich and nibbled on the corner. I swallowed. Nothing happened. I took another small bite. And another. Then I took a sip of banana milk and waited. Still nothing. I took another sip.

  Soon the plate was empty. The lady looked pleased.

  “Good, good,” she murmured.

  I stared back at her.

  “Why am I here?” I asked. The food had helped me regain my courage.

  “Why don’t we start with introductions?” she said. “Hi, Poppy. I’m Dr. Anita Beaumont, and this is my assistant, Mr. Rain Hamilton.”

  I ignored her. “Why am I here?”

  She ignored me in return. “Now,” she continued, “we’ve been aware of you for a very long time, although you might not have been aware of us—”

  I raised my voice. “WHY AM I HERE?” I kicked my chair back as I stood up. “Do my parents know I’m here? Are they okay? Where’s Noah? What have you done with him? What right do you have to imprison me here? You’re not the police.”

  Anita narrowed her eyes. They looked like slits behind her thick lenses.

  “Sit down, Poppy.”

  I didn’t.

  “Sit,” she said more sharply. “And I’ll answer your questions.”

  Like a petulant teenager bored in a Maths lesson, I rolled my eyes and sat back down on my chair reluctantly. “So?”

  Anita put both hands on the table and leaned forward. She spoke quickly. “We’re allowed to keep you here under terrorism laws. There’s been lots of hoo-ha about these recently in your country, but legally I’m allowed to keep you here for twenty-eight days.”

  My head swam.

  “Terrorism?” I shook my head. “There must be some mistake. I’m not a terrorist. Noah and I…honestly…there must have been a mix-up. I would NEVER hurt anyone. I’m not dangerous.”

  Anita eyed me over her glasses.

  “To the contrary, Poppy, at this moment in time, you and your boyfriend – ” she almost spat the word – “are considered the two most dangerous people on the planet.”

  I let the meaning of her words sink in, and then I laughed and shook my head. “You’re joking.”

  “I most certainly am not.”

  I put my hands on the table. I didn’t mean to bang them, but I did. “This is insane! I’m not dangerous. I couldn’t even punch someone without hurting my hand.”

  “It’s going to take a while for me to explain this to you.”

  I shook my head. “You need to explain this to me? Aren’t I supposed to be the terrorist? Aren’t you supposed to be interrogating information out of me? Where’s your permission to keep me here anyway? I don’t see any warrant for my arrest.”

  Anita calmly reached into her jacket pocket and took out a piece of paper. She unfolded it and pushed it across the table. It had an official crest on the top. I saw my name and Noah’s. There were also the words Strictly confidential, matter of national security.

  “What’s this?”

  “It’s a warrant for your arrest. As you can see, it’s been signed by the Minister of Defence as well as your Prime Minister.”

  Prime Minister? My head got fuzzy. I put the paper face down on the table.

  “Poppy?”

  “I want to go home.”

  “You may be able to. Don’t worry about your parents, we’ve been in contact with them. They know you’re safe and they’re not worried. But I’m afraid you and I need to have a talk first.”

  I raised my head and looked at her. “About what?”

  “About you and Noah.”

  At the mention of his name, fresh tears catapulted into my eyes. “I don’t understand what’s going on or what we’ve got to do with anything…” My voice choked. “We’re not dangerous and we’ve not done anything wrong.”

  By now the tears were escaping rapidly. I let them fall, no longer caring. If they were able to keep me here for twenty-eight days then they would have to put up with my crying.

  Anita turned to Rain. “Do you mind leaving us alone for a moment?” she asked.

  I didn’t want him to leave. He seemed nicer than her. He didn’t seem eager to go either but pushed back his chair and exited.

  Anita and I were left. Just the two of us.

  I looked at her and she looked at me.

  I felt exhausted already.

  She broke the silence.

  “Miss Lawson. What I’m about to tell you is a secret, kept so fiercely private that probably less than a hundred people know about it on this entire planet.”

  “So why are you telling me then?”

  “Because it’s your right to know. I can promise you, you don’t want to know it, just like I didn’t want to know it. There’s no going back. Your life, from now on, is going to be very difficult.”

  I wasn’t sure I had the capability for being surprised any more.

  “Well, go on then,” I said, not sure how the situation could get any worse.

  “Are you in love, Poppy Lawson?”

  The question was so direct it actually did surprise me.

  I glared at her. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

  “Oh, believe me, it’s my business. Well, are you or aren’t you?”

  I thought of Noah and it made trickles of warmth radiate through my body.

  “Yes,” I answered, head down.

  Anita leaned back in her chair, almost casually.

  “It’s a strange scientific phenomenon, love,” she said. “We’re still, to this day, trying to get a grip on it. It does all sorts of unpredictable things to the body. Did you know, for example, that when you’re in love you’re less likely to feel pain?”

  I shook my head.

  “Intriguing study. They tested a load of loved-up students in America, couples in the first throes of romance, and found their pain thresholds were much higher. Just because they had the comfort of another person loving them – someone to text at bedtime.”

  I waited for her to continue.

  “It makes you more creative as well. Did you know that?”

  I shook my head again.

  “It’s true. The electricity produced in the brain while you’re going through what popular culture calls ‘The Honeymoon Period’ is so strong it actually stimulates creative firings.”

  She took off her glasses and then, to my astonishment, rested her heeled feet up on the table.

  “Of course love actually helps your overall health. You’re less likely to get sick. And, my current favourite discovery?” Her eyes were excited. “They’ve recently found that love actually has a drug-like effect on the body. Isn’t that incredible? Scans show the receptors that light up in the brain when a person is in love are EXACTLY the same receptors that light up when a drug addict jacks up, or snorts a line. This is why humans are so, well, crazy when they fall in love. It’s this feeling that produces cheesy love songs, drippy poetry, what causes people to have affairs. That’s because someone in the giddy first throes of love is effectively a drug addict. It explains the dopamine-rollercoasters, the irrational insecurity, anxiety and jealousy. The physical withdrawal pangs you get when you can’t see your boyfriend for a week.”

  Despite my anger, fear and upset, I was actually finding this all quite interesting. I leaned forward to hear better, comparing what she said to how I felt about Noah. It seemed to fit.

  Anita let out a long sigh. “Of course,” she said, “it’s all fantasy.”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “Oh come on, hon, you’re a teenager. Aren’t you supposed to be a cynic at your age? This initial rush of love isn’t anything romantic, it’s just biolo
gy. The purpose of our species, Miss Lawson, is to reproduce. That’s it really. We like to think there’s more to it than that. We write fancy literature, build tall buildings and philosophize about the afterlife, all in a desperate attempt to try and leave a piece of ourselves behind. We pretend we’re not only here to produce offspring, die and then leave them to it. But that’s the meaning of life. Reproduce and die. Depressing, isn’t it? No wonder we’ve constructed this fantasy of love to cover the disappointment.”

  She put her feet down and leaned over the table conspiratorially. “Do you want to know a secret?”

  I figured she was going to tell me anyway but nodded. She was obviously enjoying the dramatic build-up.

  “Love is just hormones,” she whispered.

  “Hormones?”

  “Yep. Millions of hormones. Our silly species pretend it’s much more than that. That we get to ‘pick’ who we love, that things are ‘destined’ and that someone out there is The One. It’s ludicrous. Love exists to facilitate the mating process. When one person is drawn to someone of the opposite sex, they are drawn there on one basis only – will sleeping with this person provide me with healthy offspring?”

  I stretched my arms out. “I did GCSE Biology,” I said. “I know what you’re trying to explain. You’re talking about pheromones, right? The scent we’re supposed to unknowingly secrete that attracts people to us?”

  Anita twitched. “Yes. You’re right. I’m impressed.” She smiled slightly. “Our pheromones are like our own personal brand of perfume. But instead of smelling like vanilla, or roses or Mariah Carey’s new commercialized whiff, it’s more like a scratch ‘n’ sniff story of your genetic code. Subconsciously, members of the opposite sex smell you and can tell if your genetics are compatible.”

  I thought back to all my pre-Noah rants about romance. “I knew all this already.”

  She ignored me. “But, what I find interesting is humans’ refusal to accept it’s all as clinical as that. They want to believe in love, they have to. When really they’re just imagining a deep and meaningful connection to make them feel better. Pathetic really.”

  I was becoming increasingly aware that I really didn’t like this woman. She may have had science on her side, but her views on love and relationships were just…backward.