macklingirl

Africa:

Bodie woke up with a jolt. His wide-open eyes scanned his surroundings, but apart from darkness and a faint glow of fire in the middle of the camp, he could see nothing. He listened to find out what had woken him. But even though he tried hard, he couldn't hear any unusual noises. As he sat up carefully, he winced in pain. Strange, he hadn't been involved in a fight. So close to the end of a mission, it was rare for there to be quarrels among the mercenaries. And why did the entire right side of his face hurt? He felt the ground beneath his sleeping bag, but he couldn't feel anything that might have pressed against his face while he slept. He shook his head and lay back down. Tomorrow, he would ask the shaman; perhaps she had an idea what had kept him awake.

When he woke up the next morning, he felt like an old man. His whole body ached, and his face felt swollen. He took the mirror shard he always used for shaving out of his bag. His face looked the same as always. He’d probably make a fool of himself, but the night had felt so strange that he had to ask Jumuda. He walked the few steps to Jumuda's hut, knocked politely, and waited for her to invite him in.

“Oh,” said Jumuda. “What happened to you? You walk as if you've been fighting a herd of elephants. Are you hurt?”

“No,” said Bodie. “I can't see any injuries. But I woke up last night from a scream and felt like I'd been beaten up. And my face hurts, but I can't see anything. Can you help me, Jumuda?”

“I'll try,” replied the old woman. “Lie down in the middle of the hut, I'll start a ceremony.”

Although Bodie knew his comrades would laugh at him, he lay down on the floor in the middle of the hut and closed his eyes. He had complete faith in Jumuda's abilities since she had saved his life after the knife attack. There was only a small scar left on his shoulder. Jumuda burned some herbs and began the classic shamanic chant. Bodie didn't understand a word, but he felt safe. After what felt like an eternity, Jumuda covered the herbs and touched Bodie on the shoulder.

“The pain you feel, Bodie, is the pain of your soulmate. He was badly injured, but he's alive.”

“Who is that supposed to be, Jumuda?” Bodie wanted to know.

“You'll know when you see him. It will be on a Friday the 13th, your lucky day. You'll see him and feel it immediately. Your soul will know that this is the one person who can heal it.”

London:

“No!” With his eyes closed, Doyle fought back against the arms and hands holding him down. He had to fight harder, resist more. They couldn't be holding him down like this. He knew what was coming. He gasped and tried to kick his opponents, but they had his legs wrapped with something, so he couldn’t kick. He threw his head back and forth. "No!" He had to stop them from turning him onto his stomach. Again, he tried to wriggle out of their grip, but it was hopeless. “No, no, no!” he cried. He was a strong man; they couldn't rape him. With one last desperate effort, he pushed himself off the floor… and woke up with a start. Someone had hit him very hard. When his eyes focused on the person hovering above him, he saw Aisling staring down at him. She had raised her hand for a second blow and would have given him another hard slap if the first hadn't woken him up.

“What's wrong, Ray? You were screaming “no” and fighting the whole time as if your life depended on it. You scared me.” Aisling looked at him thoughtfully. “Did you have a nightmare? What happened in your dream?”

Doyle wiped the sweat from his forehead. He was uncomfortable that Aisling had witnessed his panic attack. He had often had dreams in which something happened to him. He had been hit by a bullet, and once he had been stabbed in the back in a dream. And everything had always felt so real that he was confused when he found no blood. But none of that had been as bad as this dream. He had felt so helpless.

“Come on, Ray, you can tell me. I told you that I'm a druid. We shouldn't keep secrets from each other.”

“You're right,” said Doyle. “I keep having these strange dreams that feel very real. In these dreams, bad things happen to me, and it feels like I'm being hurt or, like in this dream, raped. It scares me, Aisling.”

“Don’t worry, Ray. It only proves that my feelings about you were right. It's nice with you, but we're not meant to stay together. We’re no soulmates, and we never will be. The pain, the hurt, and the torment you feel are the things that are being inflicted on your soulmate at that same moment. His soul is crying out for you. Just as your soul cries out for him in times of need. Someday you will find your soulmate, and every fibre of your body and soul will know when the right person is near you. Remember, your lucky number is 13. It could be the 13th person you fall in love with. Or it could happen on Friday the 13th. You just have to look.”

London, five years later, Friday 13th:

Ray Doyle stood by the window of the small waiting area where Mr Cowley’s secretary had led him, his back to the door. He felt both proud and nervous. Of all days, he had been invited for an interview on Friday the 13th. He really hoped that the head of CI5 would accept him. He thought again of Aisling and her prophecy that maybe he would find his soulmate on Friday the 13th.

And now he was here for an interview with a 50-year-old man who, he hoped, would become his new boss. But for the past five years, every Friday the 13th, he had hoped to find his soulmate. He could wait even longer. Getting out of his current job was more important for now.

Bodie followed the young woman who had greeted him with the excuse that Mr Cowley was still on the phone with the minister. He knew this game; important men always made you wait to see how patient you were. The men at the top were all the same, after all. But he would show this Mr Cowley that he could be very patient. At least if it served his goal. And his goal was to become an agent with CI5.

Stopping outside a door with a little window in it, she turned around.  “Here we are, Mr Bodie. Would you mind waiting here? Mr Cowley will be with you shortly,” she said, opening the door to a small office.  “It won't be long."

With a grateful nod, Bodie stepped inside. He closed the door and looked around. A man was standing by the window, looking out. So, there was a competitor. Well, he could handle that, too. The man was almost as tall as he was, had curly hair and, as far as Bodie could tell from the doorway, was well-built. As Bodie took his first step away from the door, the man turned abruptly. Bodie looked into his face and stopped dead in his tracks. He felt as if his whole being were singing with joy. “Jumuda, you were right. Here is my soulmate,” he whispered and cautiously continued on.

Doyle heard the door open and then close again shortly afterwards. Apparently, there was a second applicant. No matter—he would make it work. He would simply ignore the second applicant and convince Mr Cowley of his abilities. When he heard the man’s first step behind him, he suddenly felt the urge to turn around. And froze, just like the person standing before him, as if struck by lightning. There he stood, his soulmate. He didn't know why he knew it, but Aisling had said that his body and soul would know.



Bodie closed the distance between them in a matter of seconds and looked into Doyle’s green eyes. Then he gently placed his left hand on Doyle’s right heek.

“Does it still hurt?” he asked. “When the bone broke, the pain woke me up.”

“No, the doctors did a great job,” Doyle replied, placing his hands on Bodie’s waist. “What happened to you was worse. I felt so helpless that night.”

None of them heard when Cowley opened the door five minutes later. He saw them standing there, Bodie’s left hand on Doyle’s right cheek, and Doyle’s hands on Body’s waist.

“Oh no,” Cowley thought. “Not again. Why do soul mates always meet on Friday the 13th? And why have you always been right, Granny, about my curse with Friday the 13th? I always lose my solo agents when they meet on Friday the 13th.”

He cleared his throat. “Bodie, Doyle. I see you’ve already met your respective partner. If you two would please follow me. We have some contracts to sign."

The End.


Title: Soule Mates
Author: macklingirl
ProsLib: Yes, please (if you like it)
Disclaimer: None of the characters belongs to me; I only borrowed them for this story. The story was in my head for a few days, and I had to try to write it.


Thank you very, very much to merentha13 for the wonderful image. :-)

The alarm clock rang with a terrible, shrill sound. Bodie pulled the blanket over his head while Doyle leaned over him and banged on the alarm clock in anger. ‘"Damn it, I was having such a nice dream. The two of us on a deserted island in Greece..."

Bodie peeked cautiously out from under the blanket and replied, "Let's stay in bed and cuddle, Ray. It's Friday the 13th, after all."

"No, you know we have an appointment with Cowley at 9 o'clock sharp," Doyle replied, getting out of bed. "We should hurry if we want to shower and have breakfast."

Grumbling to himself, Bodie got out of bed, put on his dressing gown, and said to the figure disappearing into the bathroom, "Ok, I'll make breakfast while you take a shower. Then we'll swap."

Ray Doyle went into the bathroom, turned on the shower tap, peed, and then stepped into the shower. With a loud "Fucking hell," he jumped back, slipped, and bumped his hip against the sink. "Bodie! Why is the water freezing cold?" he shouted, rubbing his sore hip. He quickly put on his bathrobe, turned off the water and headed for the kitchen.

"You can forget about showering, Sunshine. The boiler's broken. We only have ice-cold water," he grumbled, took the cup of tea from Bodie's hand, and started to drink. Before Bodie could warn him, he burned his tongue on the boiling hot tea. "Careful, the tea is still very hot," said Bodie. "Thanks, I've noticed," Doyle lisped, sticking out his tongue and trying to cool it in the cold air.

After a breakfast that could have been an Olympic record, they set about getting dressed for the day. Bodie was just putting on his jacket when Doyle swore loudly. "Look at that, now the shoelace on my new trainers has broken. That's not fair!"

"Never mind, put your boots on, we have to go," replied Bodie, holding the door open for him. "Come on, hurry up." They ran downstairs. "What's up?" Doyle asked when they reached the Capri, and Bodie made no move to unlock the car. "You said yourself we had to go. Unlock it." Bodie patted his pockets. "I forgot the car keys," he sighed, turned around, jogged back into the house and up the three flights of stairs to his flat, because the lift was broken too.

"We'll never get there on time," Doyle sighed, leaning against the bonnet. "But then again, it is Friday the 13th!"

The moment Bodie stepped out of the front door, a black cat ran in front of his feet, meowing loudly, asking for attention. To avoid tripping over the animal or kicking it (the cat belonged to his neighbour and was really very cute and sweet), Bodie swerved to the left and stepped right into a deep puddle. While the cat looked at him reproachfully and Doyle couldn't stop laughing, Bodie lifted his left foot and shook it in disgust. Cursing quietly to himself, he walked to the car, unlocked the doors and got in. "Let's go, we only have 35 minutes left and the drive to HQ takes 30 minutes," Doyle said and settled into the passenger's seat. Bodie started the Capri and floored the accelerator. "We can make it, I know a shortcut."

They were less than ten minutes away from HQ when, just ahead of them, a delivery van swerved to avoid a child running onto the road, skidded and collided with an oncoming bus. Cursing, Bodie slammed on the brakes. "Okay, Sunshine, let them know we're going to be late. Cowley is going to have our heads." While Doyle tried to reach HQ, Bodie restarted the Capri and drove around the accident site. "I can't get through," Doyle said. "We're definitely going to be transferred to records for the rest of our lives for failing to attend the briefing without excuse."

Fifteen minutes later, they reached the car park with screeching tyres, jumped out of the crookedly parked Capri and ran up the steps to HQ, only to come to an abrupt halt right behind the entrance door. "Freddie, put that ladder away. You know it brings bad luck to walk under it," Bodie gasped. "I won't do that on Friday the 13th."

Before Freddie could react, Doyle had pushed the ladder aside and continued running. "Come on, you superstitious fool." Not relying on the lift, they ran up the two floors to Cowley's office, taking two steps at a time. Gasping for breath, they stood in front of Betty's desk. "Oh," said Betty, "there you are. We tried to reach you, but you were probably already on your way. Mr Cowley says you're on standby today and can stay at home. He's in a meeting with the minister all day and won't have time for you until tomorrow."

Bodie and Doyle looked at Betty in disbelief. "What?" Doyle exclaimed, while Bodie said, "I told you, it's Friday the 13th, let's stay in bed."

While Doyle looked at him in shock and Betty laughed out loud, Bodie blushed. The worst thing about Friday the 13th was that their secret was no longer a secret.

The End