The Borrowed Souls, A Novel

Chapter 1

The pungent aroma of smoky peat filled my nose as I leaned in close to the half-filled glass of scotch. I’d only been dead for a short while, but the longing to slowly sip at the wonderfully woody spirit was overpowering. I wondered if I’d ever drink the golden nectar again.

To think of myself as dead is a little disingenuous, as I really am alive. I just can’t talk or interact with the living, only the dying. So it goes.

I stepped away from the edge of the bar as Jake, the proprietor, slid the lowball tumbler toward his customer—a well-dressed businessman most likely stopping off for a cocktail after a long day at the office. Prior to a few weeks ago, I too stopped at Jake’s for a drink from time to time, just to release the built-up demons of a hard week at work. And until recently, Jake’s was a relatively quiet little hole-in-the-wall that gave me the solitude I craved. The fact that it was located directly across the street from my apartment was just a bonus. Now, everything’s changed. With all the news coverage, Jake’s has transformed into a hotspot for fans of all things mysterious and captivating, hoping to catch a glimpse of the portrayed dastardly man on the run. Me.

Looking up at the television behind the bar, I wished I could hear the broadcast. But as the place was rather packed on this particular Thursday afternoon, I couldn’t very well turn up the volume on my own. Not with all these people around, watching. I had to stand there, reading the text scroll across the bottom of the screen.

“The woman that mysteriously fell more than twenty flights of stairs two weeks ago has died. Cynthia Duffy, the wife of Jack Duffy, succumbed to her injuries shortly after being discovered. The exact cause of her fall has not been determined at this time, but police continue to investigate the scene. Jack Duffy, her husband of fifteen years, has not been seen or heard from since the day of the accident. Police are reluctant to declare if foul play was a factor in the accident. The couple had no children, and no other family members could be reached. For more details on this tragic incident, our on-the-spot correspondent, Addison Madera, is live at the scene.”

“Thank you, Claire. I’m at the Dodson Apartment building, where Jack and Cynthia Duffy lived for more than eight years before Cynthia’s life came to a tragic end almost two weeks ago. She was found unconscious at the base of the exit stairwell by another building tenant, who dialed 911. When emergency services arrived on the scene, Cynthia’s husband was nowhere to be found, and their apartment was riddled in mystery. Their apartment door was left wide open, but nothing appeared to have be taken. After speaking to several of the Duffys’ neighbors, all of whom declined to come on camera, a resident from the floor below spoke candidly with us. Beatrice Eastman said that she knew the couple well, and that for as far back as she could recall, the Duffys were relatively quiet people, generally keeping to themselves. Ms. Eastman went on to say that despite their reserved nature, they would be greatly missed.”

“Such a tragedy. Addison, do the police have any leads on the whereabouts of the husband?”

“Yes, it is. Very heartbreaking. I spoke with the police chief just thirty minutes ago, and she said that they are actively looking for Jack Duffy for questioning. She said that at this time, he is in fact a suspect, but they are also looking into other leads as well. Namely, an acquaintance of Cynthia’s, a man named Kevin Roberts. The police chief said that Mr. Roberts has already been interviewed once, and although he is not in custody, he remains at the precinct.”

“Very compelling. Did the police chief disclose anything about why Roberts was being questioned?”

“Not at this time. She said it was too early to speculate, and that they would know more soon.”

“Okay, then. Thank you, Addison.

“If you have information on the whereabouts of Jack Duffy, you are asked to call our tip line at 210-555-9076 with any information. We’ll continue to monitor the situation and update you with any breaking news on the story.”

Shaking my head in disgust at the nonsense of the news report, I refocused my attention to the bottle of scotch nearly at my fingertips.

“Please, Jake. Just pour me one drink. After the hell I’ve been through these last few weeks.” My pleas to be served were drowned out by the dull murmurs throughout the bar.

Frustrated and confused, I blasted my way through the crowded bar for the exit. Even though I was basically invisible, I hadn’t quite grasped the concept of still occupying space. As I trudged through the crowd, I did so without touching a single soul. It was as if I were Moses and the sea parted for me. I’ll have to ask Hauser about that when I next see him, I mused.

Stepping out into the late evening, I wondered what I should do. I had a job to do—to collect the next soul. But in order to do that, I’d have to return to the hospital. Something I was not quite ready to do just yet. I could try to clear my name, but what use would that do? I struggled with the inability to talk to anyone; to even attempt to explain the truth was futile. Unless they were about to die, I would be wasting my time. No, my efforts were better off spent doing something else. But what? I thought about my apartment and how there might be something there that could occupy my time. A second later, I vanished from the sidewalk.

Chapter 2

I appeared on the twenty-fifth floor of my apartment building, at the center of the elevator lobby. I looked around. The corridor was empty. The hallway leading toward my apartment, however, had been cordoned off with multiple strips of yellow police tape.

I ducked under the tape and walked up to my apartment door, but didn’t enter immediately. The door was open, and I could hear several voices echoing from inside.

“Aren’t they done in there yet?” I questioned.

Stepping across the threshold and into my apartment, I encountered several plainclothes detectives. I knew they were police by the familiar brass shields dangling on chains around their necks and by the IPO-CSI emblazoned on their ball caps. There were two in the living room and one in the kitchen. As I walked through the entryway and deeper into my apartment, I could hear more voices coming from the master bedroom. It appeared that they were skimming through every belonging that Cyndi and I had. Talk about an invasion of privacy.

I knew instantly that whatever I was there for would be difficult to do with all of these people around. Based on the moment that I first tried to take Wilson’s rosary, I knew I wouldn’t be able to touch a thing as long as somebody else was in the room with me. Walking down the hallway and past the master bedroom, I stepped into my study. Surprisingly, there was nobody inside. There had been, however, recent activity in the room. All of my prized book collection had been boxed up, as well as all of my sports memorabilia. It was obvious that the police were looking for something, most likely searching for a clue as to my whereabouts. But how is boxing up all of my stuff going to tell them anything?

I moved around my desk and sat in my chair. I looked across the desktop and noticed that it was also void of all of my personal belongings. I quickly opened all the drawers and found each of them empty as well. Frustrated, I slammed the last drawer shut, misjudging my force. It shut so hard that the only thing present on top of the desk, a Tiffany-style lamp, nearly fell off the edge. I leaned back and wondered if the noise would bring in a visitor. Within moments, one of the detectives walked in, a baffled look plastered on his face. I laughed out loud. He walked around the desk and peered at the empty space in front of my chair. The cop couldn’t see me right in front of him. He circled back around the desk, grabbed a packed box of my stuff, and carried it out into the apartment.

“Hey, bring that back,” I yelled.

Again, I knew it was useless with all these people around, but there had to be something I could be doing. This was my stuff, and I wasn’t going to idly sit around while they continued to crate up all of my things.

“This should freak them out plenty,” I chuckled. I moved to the stack of boxes and began to unpack them, placing the items back in their original locations as best as my memory served.

After freely unpacking two boxes, the third box in the stack became frozen in place. I quickly realized that I was no longer alone and turned to find a female detective staring right through me at all the books that I’d just unpacked.

“Would you be a dear and bring me a few more boxes so I can continue living my life?” I said sarcastically.

“Hey, Franklin. Come in here for a second?” she called out to one of the other detectives. She stood motionless, perplexed. Within moments Franklin, the same guy who had just been in here, stepped back into my now overly crowded study.

“What can I do for you, Detective?” he asked.

“Didn’t I… ask you to box up everything in this office?” she asked.

Franklin glanced at the bookshelves that once again hosted a number of my personal effects. He nodded. “Yeah. Simmons and I both were in here a few hours ago and everything should’ve been… wow, that’s weird.”

“Weird? Explain.”

“Sorry, Detective, but it’s just… we had everything boxed up in here. I swear. I was just in here a few minutes ago, and—”

“Does this look like everything is boxed up?” The detective interrupted him and motioned to the bookshelves.

“Um, no. I’ll, um, get it done right away,” Franklin said, clearly embarrassed.

“And make it quick. Transport is supposed to be here within the hour, and all this needs to get to the crime lab ASAP.”

Hearing that, the gravity of the situation really hit home. I was about to lose everything I’ve ever owned, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.

Determined to at least slow them down, I darted from room to room, looking for any unoccupied space. Stepping into the master closet, I found all of my clothes had been boxed, along with all of my hats. As fast as I could, I rehung everything I could that had hangers. I took the box of hats and just dumped them on the floor. As I stepped back into the master bedroom, the smile on my face vanished. Two movers were hauling out our bedroom furniture.

I ran past them and into the living room and found that half of the furniture had already been taken out of the apartment. As soon as the two guys carrying the mattress walked out the front door, I found myself alone. I grabbed as many boxes as I could, ran them back into the bedroom, and scattered their contents across the bedroom floor.

“You know, you should be careful with that stuff,” a voice came from behind me. Startled and caught off guard, I turned so fast I nearly lost my balance. Hauser was leaning against the wall, picking at the cuticles on his left hand.

“What… what are you doing here?” I asked.

“I should ask you the same. Don’t you have a job to do?”

“I, uh, I’ll get there. I just want to… find something in here,” I stammered.

“You know, Jack, all of these things, these possessions, they don’t mean a thing. They’re all items that were once yours and Cyndi’s, but not anymore.”

“Then what’s going to happen to them? Neither of us have any family,” I said.

“Does it matter, Jack? Does it really matter what’s gonna happen to any of it? It’ll all probably be donated after it sits in some police storage warehouse for ten years. And that’s something that neither you nor I can control.”

“But it’s my stuff,” I pleaded.

“And now it’s not. I hate to be so direct about this, but the moment you died, you lost everything. You lost your right to possess. You lost your right to live.” Hauser paused. “Listen, buddy, I know where you’re coming from. I’ve been there many times before. You can do this.”

“I don’t understand. How is it that you’ve been here many times? Didn’t you become a collector something like two hundred years ago?”

“Yeah, I only personally went through this once, and it was more than two hundred years ago. Obviously things were different back then. But I still experienced the loss that you are experiencing now. Through the years though, through all of the trainings that I’ve done, I experienced this same thing over and over again, albeit secondhand through my trainees. I’ve had to walk their feelings through to the other side, just like I am with you right now. And let me tell you, buddy, you have it easy. When I made the transition, my trainer was a complete asshole. He used the tough love approach. And trust me, you would much prefer me than him.”

“Your trainer, is he still around?” I asked.

Hauser paced around the room almost as if he were looking for an exit. “Yes and no. He still exists, but he’s no longer a trainer. But enough about him and me. This is about you, and letting go.”

I nodded. “Isn’t there anything, just one single item, that I can keep? You know, as some kind of memento?”

Hauser shook his head and walked toward the door. “Sorry, bub. No bueno.”

“But Wilson had the coin. How was he able to keep that after he died?”

“Well, that doesn’t really count. And I think you know why.”

“No, please enlighten me,” I said, beginning to feel frustration build.

“The coin, along with many other items, are tools of the trade. They each do something special in the aid of soul collecting. With more experience, you will be able to gain more items as you go along.”

I knew the coin was able to bring back certain memories of the person’s past, but what did the rosary do, I wondered. “So, nothing of my own, not even an—”

“Nothing,” Hauser said with finality and walked out of the bedroom.

Before I could follow him, the female detective stepped into the room. The shocked look on her face was severely comical.

“Franklin!” she yelled.

As much as I wanted to hang back and watch Franklin fumble with an excuse, I wanted to—no, I needed to—continue the conversation with Hauser, so I followed him into the living room.

“Listen, Jack. I understand what you’re going through. Trust me, I get it. But the more you come back here, to your old life, the more difficult this transition is going to be for you. What you need to do right now is to think of a different place and jump there. You mustn’t come back here again. Ever. It’ll do you no good. Besides, within a week or two, this place will be cleared out completely. There’ll be nothing here for you to come back to.”

Feeling defeated, I nodded slightly. “It’s just so difficult, you know?”

“I do. But each of us handles this transition differently,” Hauser said as he glanced at his pocket watch. “Back in my day, this part of the transition was fairly easy for me. My background and heritage was—how should I say this?—different from your own. We put far less value in personal possessions than the world does today. To give up everything that I owned… let’s just say I didn’t give it a second thought.”

“Then how can you relate to my difficulty here?” I asked.

“It’s the vices that I struggled with,” Hauser said. He looked at me and smiled as he patted at his shirt pocket, looking for something. He continued to pat down his body, into his pants pockets, until he found what he was looking for. He slipped out a pack of gum and put a piece into his mouth. “It’s the vices that will kill you, let me tell you. Listen, Jack, regardless of how different our situations were, I know one thing: you’ll make it. You’ll just have to trust yourself and let go.”

“Just like that?”

“Yep, just like that.”

“Where should we go? I’m not sure I’m ready to collect the soul yet.”

“There’s no rush. The soul will be there whenever you’re ready, granted that you don’t take too long. Just pick a place. Make it your new home base, per se.”

“Home base?”

“Yeah, kind of like a security blanket. It’ll be your place to go that will always be there whenever you need to get away from it all, or to just be alone.”

I paced around the living room, thinking about various places that I could jump to. Most of them had some trace of Cyndi’s memory. I dismissed those and moved on to the next place in my mind. After a few moments of pondering, I knew right where I would be going.

I smiled at Hauser and vanished from the room.

Chapter 3

When I appeared next to the bench, I momentarily expected to see Wilson staring off into the ether, but that was just wishful thinking.

I sat down and wondered if Hauser would follow me directly or if he would give me time to truly find my own place. I had my answer the moment I leaned back and crossed my leg, as Hauser materialized right next to me. He sat in a mimicking fashion. I looked at him, noting his state of complete relaxation, and wondered how he could be so cavalier about what we do. As I continued to stare, he noticed me.

“What?” he asked.

“It’s nothing,” I lied. It didn’t feel right questioning his logic, seeing as he was going to be my trainer for the foreseeable future. “How is it that you knew where I would go?”

“Oh, it’s not that difficult. I knew you wouldn’t go to your place of employment, because I’ve already seen that video. You’ve already been to the bar, and you just left your apartment so…”

“Am I that predictable?” I asked.

Hauser chuckled. “Nah, kid. I had help.”

Hauser withdrew an antique monocle tucked into his shirt. It was attached to a lengthy bronze chain slung around his neck.

“This little gizmo helps me track other soul collectors as they jump from place to place. Every time you vanish from one place and materialize in another, you leave a faint trail, invisible to the naked eye. If I put this up to my eye, I can follow along. But only if I catch the scent quickly enough,” Hauser explained.

“Is that how you knew I was at Jake’s?” I asked.

“Yeah, sort of. I’ve been following you around all week, and knew you’d turn up there sooner or later. I was already there when you popped in.”

“What, you’ve been following me?” I asked, feeling a little violated.

“But of course. You’re the new kid on the block, and it’s kind of my job to keep you in line,” Hauser said. “So why this place? Is it because of Wilson?”

I looked at the advertisement for my apartment building plastered on the billboard across the street and pondered that very question. “I don’t know. I guess it’s probably something to do with him. It’s funny, I only knew the guy for thirty minutes, but I feel so connected to him. I can’t explain it.”

“Wilson will be missed, that’s for sure. He had a… a way of talking to people that made them feel special.” Hauser paused. “And for the record, I’m not at all knocking your choice of this here park bench as your special place. You should see mine,” Hauser chuckled.

“Okay, I’m intrigued. What is your place, or where is it?”

“Nuh-uh, compadre. Like I said, you’re the new kid, and not too many people know where my secret hideout is,” he said with a wink.

I nodded, even more interested to find out where it is that he goes.

Several minutes passed as we sat in silence. I had a million questions for Hauser, but I didn’t want to flood him with them all at once. Before I had a chance to ask one, Hauser spoke.

“So listen, sport. We both know that it’s been a few weeks since you got your last box. I think it’s about time you stop ignoring your responsibilities.”

“I’m not ignoring them. It’s just that I need some time, you know.”

“And that’s fine, some of the past collectors needed more time than you to get started, and some much less. But you have to realize that when you agreed to become a soul collector, you agreed to maintain the stream of soul boxes that come to you. There is only so much time before any one individual box can go before it needs to be filled,” Hauser said.

“How much time do I have?” I asked.

Hauser shrugged his shoulders. “You know, each soul is a little different. I’ve seen soul boxes fill nearly instantaneously, and I’ve seen some go along for months without being filled.”

“How do you know that my current box isn’t one of those? One of the long-term jobs?”

“Ahh, you got me there. But unless you at least attempt the collection, we’ll never know, now will we? Besides, the members of the Sentinel will not remain patient forever.”

“The Sentinel? Is that like God’s minions or something?” I asked jokingly.

“Nah, it’s got nothing to do with God. He’s around, but he’s got more important things to deal with. Let’s just say the Sentinel are our employers and leave it at that,” Hauser said with finality, his eyes darting around as he shivered slightly.

As I contemplated this new bit of cryptic information, Hauser pulled out a pocket watch that was quite peculiar. Its face had no numbers. Instead, I could see faint images around its perimeter. After a moment of looking at it, he clicked it closed, returned it to his pocket, and stood up.

“Listen, kid, I’m going to cut you a little slack, but not too much. I know you’re full of questions, and we’ll get to all of them in good time. But for now, do me a favor. Go visit your intended mark. For all we know, she’s ripe for the picking.”

I stood up to follow Hauser and asked, “But aren’t you going with me?”

“I’ve got someplace I need to be right now, but I’ll meet up with you at the hospital shortly. I’ll only be a few minutes—a half hour tops,” he said before vanishing.

Instinctively I looked at my wrist for the time and realized for the hundredth time that I’d forgotten to put on a watch. I looked up into the sky to see where the sun was, hoping it would give me a clue as to the time of day. In the small park nestled at the center of the city, the buildings prevented me from seeing the sun directly. My best guess was that it was midafternoon by the warm temperature around me.

I withdrew the box from my pocket and read the name aloud—“Abigail Whitaker”—but nothing happened. I didn’t beam to her hospital bedside. Convinced that something was wrong, I shook the box and tried it again. “Abigail Whitaker.” Nothing.

Still holding the box, I sat back on the park bench and thought through some of Hauser’s words. Actually, only two words were occupying my mind. The Sentinel. Who were they, and why did Hauser clam up when I asked about them? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Hauser was a little afraid of them. I wondered if Wilson had ever met any of the Sentinel himself or if Hauser was the only one that had any dealings with them. Like a go-between guy.

Then there were other oddities that piqued my curiosity. The monocle and his pocket watch. I wondered how many of these kind of special items existed for the soul collector’s job. Personally, I had two. I was familiar with the function of the coin, but I still didn’t know what the rosary did, or if it even had an ability.

The longer I sat on the bench, contemplating the ever-increasing list of questions, the more I knew that if I wasn’t at the hospital when Hauser got through with whatever it was he was doing, things would not look good for me. I did my best to push everything from my mind and only think about the hospital where Abigail Whitaker lay dying. A moment later I disappeared from the park bench.

Chapter 4

When I arrived at the hospital, I didn’t land in Abigail’s room. I instead landed on the first floor, near the bank of elevators. Sure, I could have just as easily popped right into her room, or at least to her same floor, but coming into the hospital as I did was a calculated effort. I needed to ease myself back in.

It wasn’t until I was standing in front of the elevator doors that I realized that taking the lift would not be an option. Not with the slew of people milling about the hospital. I walked around the corner and found the stairway access, and thankfully no one was around.

As the clang of the door echoed through the stairway, I began my assent to the seventh floor. With each step, my mind continued to dwell on what had prevented me from coming back to the hospital. The memory of Cyndi. It had been almost two weeks ago that I had last seen my wife alive. Now here I was, back in the same building, heading up to the same floor where she’d died.

The inevitable nature of my new job would most certainly bring me back to this hospital many times, and that inevitability was not lost on me. But knowing that still didn’t make it easier.

I continued to trudge up the steps, holding my head down, watching my feet rhythmically climb, step by step, trying to think of anything but Cyndi. As I rounded the corner at the fifth floor landing, I ran into another person.

“Hey now, watch where you’re going,” Hauser said.

I nearly jumped out of my skin.

“Jesus, Hauser. What the hell are you doing here?” I asked, my pulse racing.

“Waiting for you, naturally. I, too, often take the stairs. Keeps the energy level up,” he said, falling into stride next to me. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

I nodded, and we climbed the remaining two flights of stairs in awkward silence. It seemed like with every additional interaction with Hauser, I was more puzzled. I wondered, was I the one that was strange, or was he?

As we reached the seventh floor, Hauser inched the door open and peeked through the crack. A moment later, he fully opened the door and stepped through.

“All clear, buddy,” he said.

I followed him through and into the empty corridor. He moved at such a quick pace, it took effort for me to keep up with him.

“Hey, what’s the rush?” I asked. “Do you know something that I don’t?”

“No sir. I’m just a firm believer in a diligent work habit,” he said as he rounded the corner and headed for the ICU ward. As he stepped up to the secured doors, he reached over and pressed the call button multiple times to the tune of Shave and a Haircut. When he finished, he glanced over at me and winked.

“Enjoying yourself?” I asked.

“If you’ve been doing this job as long as I have, kid, you’d try to make every moment enjoyable too. Otherwise, you might just go crazy.”

Within seconds, a buzzer sounded, and Hauser pulled the door open and stepped through. As we walked through the outskirts of the ICU, my eyes darted to the room where Cyndi had been. Common sense told me she was long since gone, but instinct prevailed.

“Are you telling me that you’ve not been back up here since?” Hauser asked.

“Yeah, about that… I’ve been meaning to…”

“You know, Jack, I’m sure you could pop over to the morgue and see your wife once more, but you’d only be visiting a shell of her former self.”

Until Hauser uttered those words, the thought had never crossed my mind. To actually go see her? As I thought about the possibility, I quickly realized that seeing her battered and broken body again would be too much.

“You’re not actually thinking about it, are you?” asked Hauser.

“Um, no. Honestly, I never thought that they would keep her body this long.”

“Your situation is unique, Jack. Because you’re not around to claim her body, and she had no family, right? She’ll probably remain in the morgue’s freezer until the investigation is complete. After that, I’m sure—”

“Okay, stop. I really don’t need to know what happens to the unclaimed bodies.”

“But you could probably see Wilson while you’re there…”

Ignoring his banter, I stepped around Hauser and walked right up to Abigail’s room. I took a breath and stepped inside.

Chapter 5

Walking into the room instantly brought memories of Cyndi to the forefront, but I promptly blocked them. I moved to Abigail’s bedside and looked down at her unconscious body. Her conditions so closely mimicked Cyndi’s when I’d first found her: multiple tubes penetrating her arms and neck, along with a tube that was through her open mouth. Pity enveloped me, and I began to wonder what I’d gotten myself into when I agreed to take over as a soul collector. I could only hope that the job would get easier with each new dying person I encountered.

“So… do I remove the air tube?” I asked, trying to make sense of the situation.

Hauser stepped beside me. “The medical term is that she has been intubated. It’s a little tricky, but her soul can be retrieved without removing the tube.”

“Then, what? Do I whistle for her soul? Like I’m calling a Labrador retriever?” I asked, my words dripping with sarcasm.

Hauser ignored my derision and said, “No, I don’t think that’ll be necessary today. Besides, there’s really more to it than just sucking her soul out. The soul needs to be cleansed properly before it is sent on to its next borrower.”

“Cleansed? Wilson didn’t tell me anything about cleansing anything. What about his soul, or the soul I took from Cyndi? I didn’t—”

“I took care of both of those collections, after the requisition had been put in for their new placements.”

Listening to Hauser speak with such lack of emotion nearly made my head spin. “All right. Where do I begin?” I asked, trying to sound eager even though I had no idea what it all meant.

“It’s hard to explain, really. As you recall with Wilson and Cyndi, their soul vacated the vessel—their bodies—in the form of a stream of smoke. As soon as it enters the transportation chamber—the wood box—the cleanse can begin.”

“That doesn’t sound too difficult. What’s involved with the actual cleansing?” I pressed.

“That’s where it gets a little tricky. The soul can become a little agitated once placed in the box—”

“Agitated?”

“Maybe ‘agitated’ isn’t the right word here. Maybe ‘unbalanced’ is a better term, and not all souls react the same way. Some souls are much gentler and handle the process better than others.”

“Really. What about the old saying ‘walk into the light’? Wouldn’t that be easier here?”

“Ha. You can thank Hollywood for that one, although the old process was quite similar.”

Feeling more confused and overwhelmed by the minute, I pressed. “And?”

“Back in the day, there was no wood box to carry the soul from borrower to borrower. When a borrower passed on, the soul would slip from one dead body to the life of another, without incident. The job of the soul collector was nonexistent. That all changed a few hundred years ago.”

“How so?” I asked, becoming more intrigued, to the point that I almost forgot about the task at hand. Hauser, on the other hand, had not. He nodded his head in Abigail’s direction.

I followed his gaze and saw Abigail’s eyes staring back at me. I instinctively smiled and rapidly tried to think of something to say. Before anything came to mind, Hauser spoke.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Whitaker. Did we wake you?”

Abigail nodded her head slightly, although it was barely perceptible.

“I do apologize. My colleague and I were just making rounds, and we thought we’d stop in to see how you were feeling. Are you in any pain?” Hauser asked.

Abigail closed her eyes momentarily and then gently shook her head side to side.

“That’s good. Good.”

I remained silent as Hauser and the old woman had a brief one-sided conversation. Abigail’s consciousness only lasted a few moments before she drifted away once again.

“It’s clear that she can see us,” I said as I slid the box from my pocket.

“Put it away, Jack. She’s not quite ready yet. She’ll let us know.”

“How can you tell?” I asked.

“Experience, mostly. I’ve done this so many times that I’ve learned to recognize the signs.” Hauser stepped away to the far side of the room, motioning me to follow.

“You see, Jack, some souls need coaxing, and Abigail’s may need just that.”

“Is that like what Wilson did for me and what I did for Cyndi? Do I have to relive some day of their life with them?”

“Maybe yes, other times no. And sometimes a little outside influence is necessary. With experience you’ll learn to recognize the appropriate time as well.”

“What kind of outside influence do you mean?” I asked, really feeling the information overload.

“Take Mrs. Whitaker, for example. She’s been involved in an auto accident—”

“Are you sure?” I asked, shooting a quick glance at Abigail. I could see no physical injuries. “Besides her age, she looks fine to me.”

“When I’m not training new collectors like you, I collect souls myself. As a matter of fact, just a few weeks ago, when you decided to go all splitsville with your life, I was collecting a number of souls from a horrific auto accident upstate. It was a multicar pileup on the freeway, and most of those with severe injuries succumbed to death quite rapidly. Abigail and her husband were involved, but only in a minor fashion. Abigail’s husband was driving the car. He swerved to avoid the accident and ended up in a ditch. Abigail here was wearing her seatbelt, but her husband wasn’t.”

“Did you already collect his soul, then?” I asked.

“No, not yet. As a matter of fact, he’s here at the hospital, but he’s in much better shape than Abigail is. Because Abigail had her seatbelt on, she did not lurch forward as her husband did when their car stopped at the bottom of that ditch. She would’ve been fine had she not had a heart attack right after the accident.”

“Oh my. And you knew all this for the last few weeks and didn’t say anything to me?”

“Yes, that’s right. I knew that you would need time to adjust, otherwise I would’ve pushed you harder.”

“And what about her husband? I’m confused. You said that he did not have a seatbelt on and, what? What about his injuries?”

“He has a few bumps and bruises, but he should be fine,” Hauser said quietly. “Listen, let’s… get out of here for a while. I think we’ll have plenty of time on this one. Let’s head to the Bronx and do a little fishing.”

“Are you being sarcastic or do I need a fishing pole?”

Hauser only smiled before he vanished from the room. I chuckled and thought about the last time I was in the Bronx before vanishing as well.

Chapter 6

Moments later I arrived on a nondescript block, shadowed in uncertainty. Hauser was standing on the opposite side of the street, staring into a dark alley. As I walked up to him, I began to hear rowdy voices emanating from the alleyway.

“So we’re not really going fishing, are we?” I asked.

“Well, sort of. You’re in training, kid. Over the years I’ve taken almost all of the new trainees to locations just like this.”

“To the ghetto? Is this an exercise in proving that we made the right choice—to no longer live in a crime-riddled world?”

“Not so much. Not all new soul collectors tried to kill themselves. That’s just you, my friend.”

I looked around for a proverbial rock to crawl under. When none could be found, I asked, “Then why?”

“Coming to a place like this, especially at a time like right now, will give you some invaluable hands-on experience with some quick soul collecting. You see, there are more than a hundred street gangs in the Bronx. And recently, the truce between two of the major gangs has come to an end, and a battle is imminent. It’ll be almost like shooting fish in a barrel.”

“But the name on my box is Abigail. How am I to get another box without filling this one first? Is that not how it works?”

“For the most part, yes. Until you’ve gained enough experience, you’ll only be allowed one box at a time. After your twenty-fifth collected soul, you’ll have the ability to collect a random soul that’s near your proximity. I’ve had that ability for more than a century now, and for these training exercises, you’ve been granted that same ability. Temporarily, that is.”

“So we just stand here and wait for them to kill each other? What if nothing happens?”

“Yep, we just wait. And trust me, it’ll happen. I’ve been in and out of this neighborhood a dozen times over the last week, and the tension between these two gangs continues to heighten.”

As if on cue, the sound of a gunshot echoed about, and I instinctively flinched at the report.

“See? What did I tell ya?” Hauser said with a smile before stepping into the alley.

Following a few steps behind, I began to feel a burning sensation on the palm of my hand. I held it up to see what was causing the irritation, and as I did, a new box materialized. A new name was neatly carved in the wooden lid: Alfonso Dorn.

“Hey, I’ve got a new box,” I called out to Hauser, “but I don’t see any dead bodies yet.”

“Give it time, kid. I think this is going to be a big night for you. I’ve already received four boxes. All we have to do is wait.”

Hauser and I stepped out of the narrow alleyway and into a large open area where two other alleys met. From our position we could see more than a dozen gang members along the perimeter. At the center of the open area, four young men faced each other. It appeared to be two members from each of the gang factions arguing about whose rights to the turf were being disrespected. Hauser ambled over to the edge of a brick wall and sat on a stack of crates.

“Take a load off, kid. We don’t know how long this argument will last before it comes to blows, or even better, until the heavy weapons come out.”

I sat down next to Hauser and noticed he did in fact have four boxes in his hands. He set them on the surface between us before sliding a stick of gum from his pocket and into his mouth.

“While we wait for the unfortunate outcome of the brawl, let’s talk a little more about the cleanse,” Hauser said.

My gaze had been intently focused on the gang activity when Hauser mentioned it. With my interest instantly piqued, I turned to face him.

“So, the cleanse. Every soul has a memory, or memories. Depending on how old the soul is, and how long it has been borrowed, will determine its level of toxicity.”

“Toxicity? Is it lethal?” I asked.

“Not exactly. Toxicity is a kind of… term to explain its current state. Our job, as part of being a soul collector, is to clean or eradicate those memories from the soul.”

“Just like that? The cleanse will eliminate all memories from the associated soul?”

“Well, not all of the memories. Obviously with new souls there are no associated memories present. But most of the souls in population right now are old souls. The older the soul, the more residual memories remain,” Hauser said. “Our best guess is that the cleanse removes about eighty percent of the memories present at the time of death.”

“Wow. A guess? And only eighty percent?”

“Hey, it’s not exactly a science, kid. Before we started doing the cleansing, as you can imagine, there were souls floating around with so much past life information running through their minds, the mental institutions all over the world were severely overpopulated, all because the soul borrowers couldn’t differentiate from the memories of their own and those of past borrowers. The Sentinel feels that twenty percent is an acceptable amount of residual memories, and that they add character to the new recipient.”

“Interesting. I guess that makes sense. I can remember having dreams when I was young that were of people and situations that I have never before encountered. I guess that those kind of dreams are triggered from past memories of the previous soul owner?”

“Quite possibly, but most dreams are delusions fabricated by your own personal experiences. I’m no dream specialist, but think of it like this: you can dream about a black cat without ever seeing one in person. If you’ve seen a white cat, and you know what the color black looks like, your mind can fabricate a black cat in a dream. That’s the simplistic explanation, obviously.”

I nodded as I processed Hauser’s information. What he was saying did make sense, and who was I to question its full meaning?

“All right. I think I understand the reasoning and the outcome, but what about the process?”

“Take your newest box. Do you notice anything peculiar about it?” Hauser asked.

I looked at the box and turned it over multiple times, examining each of the surfaces for something—anything—peculiar.

“Can I have a hint? This one looks the same as all the other ones,” I said as I held out the box for him to look at.

Hauser didn’t even glance at the box. “Look closely along the front edge, where it meets the top. You see that?”

I looked where he indicated, and sure enough, I saw an oval-shaped hole right along the leading edge.

“Huh. How’d I miss that?”

“That, my friend, is the extrication portal.”

I opened the box, looked at the inside surface behind the portal, and found a dozen smaller holes around that same area.

“Do all of these smaller ones lead to the larger one?” I asked.

“You’re very astute, Jack. I’ve had to practically draw a picture for the last three students in your position.”

Feeling somewhat proud of my inquisitive nature, I asked, “But what’s it for?”

“Oh, come now, Jack. You’re so close. Care to take a guess?

I closed the box and again looked at the orifice on the outside corner. The hole was about a quarter inch diameter and almost certainly had something to do with the smoke associated with the soul.

“Does the wisp of smoke have to go through it?” I asked. “It looks pretty small to make it through, though.”

“Oh, you’re so close,” Hauser chuckled. “Get ready for your mind to be blown.”

Hauser’s timing was uncanny. Within seconds of his statement, a full-on brawl erupted in front of us. At first the fight consisted of kicks and punches, but before long knives and clubs were brought out. One unfortunate gang member took a bat across the side of his head, the force jerking his neck sideways with an audible crack.

“There’s one,” Hauser said, holding all four of his open boxes in his hands. I quickly fumbled with my box, opened it, and waited for the familiar soul cloud to exit the body. As it began to seep from the lips of the dead kid, a loud pop-pop-pop echoed through the arena. Two more gang members dropped to the ground, and the fight stopped almost instantly.

“Is it over?” I asked. “Didn’t you get four boxes?”

Before Hauser could answer, tinted vapors left the latest fallen victims and found their way into two of Hauser’s boxes. As I watched this, I noticed that the first victim’s soul had entered my box, which closed on its own.

Once Hauser’s boxes closed, he took one of them, placed the hole to his lips, and inhaled sharply. Seconds later, the box disappeared and was replaced with another. He looked at me, nodding at the box in my own hand.

Nervously, I brought the box up to my mouth and placed my lips around the hole, just as Hauser had. I inhaled deeply. An acrid taste filled my mouth and I began to cough uncontrollably, similar to the first time I’d smoked pot.

“Slow down, sport. Take smaller breaths if it helps,” he said as he patted me on the back.

“That… is absolutely disgusting,” I said. “I have to do this with every soul?”

Before Hauser could answer, my box disappeared and was replaced with another.

“Yep. Doesn’t get any better than this,” Hauser said with a bit too much enthusiasm.

“But the taste, do you get used to it?” I asked.

“Well, it’s interesting. Each soul that we cleanse really has a different flavor. As far as I can tell, the more sorrowful or disturbing the soul’s memories are, the more acidic the flavor. The more pure or innocent the memories are, the sweeter the taste. Sometimes you have to take the good with the bad.”

I sat next to Hauser, the rank taste still lingering in my mouth, and hoped that it would not last.

As I contemplated the unpleasant flavor, the fight resumed—a melee of swinging knives and clubs, along with more gunfire. The fight continued for another ten minutes, filling a total of nine boxes—three of my own and six for Hauser. With each cleanse, the flavor did in fact vary. The last soul collected and cleansed was practically tasteless. I noticed it came from a teen so young that I doubted he was even old enough to drive.

After some time, the surviving gang members fled in opposite directions, leaving the dead bodies lying haphazardly around the open alleyway. In the end I was left with only Abigail’s soul box. Even though the whole ordeal had lasted less than thirty minutes, I felt thoroughly exhausted. I slumped back against the wall, thankful that it was over.

“Not bad, kid,” Hauser said. “The tiredness that you’re experiencing is directly associated with the soul cleansing that you just performed. It’s normally not this bad, but seeing as you did in fact just cleanse three souls, the effects are much stronger.”

“Do you… ever get used to it?”

“Heavens no. And you don’t want to. It’s like a necessary evil of the job, you know?”

I did, associating it with the dreaded paperwork that accompanied many of the tasks of my former job before I… left.

“Why don’t you take it easy for a while? I’ve got some things to do, and I’ll pop in on Abigail from time to time to check on her progression. If something comes up before you see her again, I’ll come find you.”

I nodded, and before I could say anything, Hauser vanished.

I sat, languishing on the dilapidated wooden crates for another ten minutes before I thought of my park bench and vanished myself.

Chapter 7

As I sat on my familiar park bench, my mind reeled from the horrific butchery that I’d just witnessed. Granted, they were a bunch of drug-dealing gang thugs, but still, they were lives lost, foolishly. I was also somewhat disturbed by Hauser’s eagerness for the carnage to take place. I suppose that after witnessing so much death in the span of his life, he must have somehow desensitized his emotions.

Fully aware of the level of exhaustion I was experiencing, I twisted my body to the side and leaned back on the park bench. Gazing up at the stars, I tried to remember the last time I’d actually slept. I mentally walked through my previous several weeks and realized that I hadn’t slept a wink since the morning of Cyndi’s death.

“How can that be?” I asked aloud.

Somehow, since that fateful moment on this very bench all those weeks ago, I hadn’t experienced tiredness. Come to think of it, I hadn’t eaten or drunk anything either. Did I need to eat or drink? Or sleep? I didn’t seem to have any ill effects from not doing any of it.

As I lay there, my mind hashing through the last hour of my life, my vision began to cloud over. I was drifting off to sleep, and I couldn’t do a thing to stop it.

A loud explosion nearly jarred my wisdom teeth loose. I opened my eyes and saw that I was lying on my bed, my skin drenched with sweat. I looked to Cyndi’s side of the bed, which was eerily vacant.

Swinging my feet to the floor, I stood and quickly donned a pair of shorts before walking out into the hallway. It was the middle of the night, and everything was dark except for a glow emanating from my study. Ever so quietly, I tiptoed to the open door and peered inside. There, on top of my desk, sat Cyndi with her back toward me. She was naked. Facing her was a tall, dark-haired man, thrusting his naked body into the loins of my wife. Rage overtook me, and I charged into the room.

“What the hell is going on?” I screamed. When Cyndi turned to look at me, her face was covered in black soot. She smiled, baring her polished white teeth at me. She laughed wildly as her canines dripped red droplets of blood to the ground. Repulsed by her grotesque appearance, I darted from the room.

As I stepped into the hallway, light began to shine from all directions. I walked down the hall, and as I stepped into what I expected to be my living room, it turned into the aisle of the Church of Heavenly Rest. The interior of the church was lit only by candlelight, and every pew was full of parishioners. At the front of the church, a bright source of light began to shine down on an open casket. I was drawn toward it as if by a tractor beam. The closer I got, the deeper the fear settled in my soul. I knew it would be Cyndi. I prayed that it would be the old Cyndi and not the one the one with horrific, demon-like face that I had just seen.

As I neared the casket, Cyndi’s face came into view. It was, thankfully, her old, beautiful self. She wore a cream-toned blouse with a lilac-colored ribbon pinned to her chest. Her complexion was as clear as ever, and she wore light-pink lipstick, her favorite. Wanting to hold her one last time, I reached down and gently stroked the back of her hand. The instant my flesh touched hers, her eyes opened, her eyeballs solid black. She smiled and hissed before gripping me with such force that I felt a bone crack in my hand. She pulled herself upright and stared out at the crowd behind me. She nodded her head and then cackled like a witch on Halloween. From behind, I heard the parishioners begin to chant, “Burn, burn, burn.”

I yanked my hand from her grip and recoiled away from her. As I neared the edge of the pulpit, her casket burst into flames. Staring out at the parishioners, I finally recognized them as the gang members who had just fought in the ghetto. Before I could react, the entire front row pulled out various sized pistols and shotguns and pointed them at me. In unison, each of them pulled the hammers back and fired them.

I lurched, falling off the park bench.

“So, Jack. Was it a frightening dream?” Hauser asked, sitting on the bench.

“Uh, how’d you know?”

“Lucky guess,” he said, winking at me.

I rolled onto my knees and pulled myself up off the ground before sitting next to Hauser.

“The dream was… surreal, I guess,” I admitted.

“Well, buddy, all I can say is that you’ll learn. Like I did so many years ago.”

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and noticed that the sun had come up. “What? I’ll learn?”

“Yep. The moment you became a soul collector, your ability to have fluffy, feel-good dreams ceased to exist. Almost every collector that I’ve known stopped sleeping completely just to avoid the wicked nightmares. It’s just not worth it,” Hauser explained. “And to answer your other question, no, you don’t really have to sleep.”

“How’d you—”

“I just know. Jack, you are my twenty-fourth trainee. Trust me, I’ve heard every question imaginable. The question of whether we have to sleep, to drink, to eat—they’ve all come up dozens of times.”

“If we don’t have to sleep, then why was I so tired after—”

“Because, Jack, you just ingested the memories of three vigilante gang members, and that certainly takes it out of a person. Don’t get me wrong, Jack. You can sleep, but you will no doubt experience some of the most horrific dreams you could ever imagine. Do you want to talk about what you dreamed just now?”

The image of Cyndi’s horrific demon face came to mind, and I knew that I wanted to forget it ever existed. “No, I think I’ll keep it to myself.”

“Suit yourself. Just remember, I’m a good listener too,” Hauser offered.

“You say I don’t have to sleep anymore, but how do I get any rest? I really felt totally and completely exhausted earlier.”

“Did Wilson explain how we live, us soul collectors?”

“Sort of. Do you mean living eight times as long?”

“Yeah. That’s it. Sleep is kind of the same. If you rest yourself completely for an hour, you will feel like you’ve slept for eight.”

“Seriously?”

“As serious as taking half a bottle of Percocet,” Hauser said with a wry grin.

“Ouch. That hurts.”

“Sorry. Too soon? My bad.”

Somehow I sensed Hauser wasn’t trying to be mean but was in fact trying to lighten the mood. I was almost certain that he knew just how ugly of a dream I’d had and wanted to soothe my soul as best he could.

“What about eating and drinking?” I asked. “I honestly can’t remember the last time I ate a thing.”

“What goes in must come out, remember that.”

I chuckled. “So what you’re saying is I can eat, but then I’d have to… relieve myself sometime down the road?”

“Yep. And just remember, not all restrooms will be vacant,” Hauser said. “Kind of makes it hard to take care of business that way.”

“Yeah, but it would be worth it for just one more slice of New York pizza, or the occasional snifter of brandy.”

“Whoa, now. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, shall we? The effects of alcohol on our type is quite a bit different. Use your imagination, but the same eight-to-one ratio comes into play.”

“So, projectile vomiting after a half a beer?”

“Something like that. Listen, Jack. Without going into too much detail about my past, I’ve had to make some severe lifestyle changes. For starters, I haven’t slept in almost a century; the horrific nightmares of my past were just too much. I gave up booze shortly after I became a collector; it just wasn’t worth it for me. The hangovers were immensely worse.” Hauser paused and fished a stick of gum out of his pocket, slipped it past his lips, and began to chew. “Let me ask you, Jack, did you smoke? Cigarettes or cigars?”

“Nah, not really. I had an occasional cigar while out with the guys, but as for cigarettes, I never got the attraction. Why?”

“That’s good, kid. Smoking was one of the hardest habits to break. I’ve been a soul collector for more than two centuries, and I gave up smoking about the same time I gave up drinking, but I still have the craving for a cigarette.”

As I began to put things together, the chewing gum began to make sense.

“Wow, I had no idea. More than two centuries?”

“Yep. I go way back.”

“Tell me, how did you become a collector, if you don’t mind sharing.”

Hauser pulled his pocket watch out, looked at the face, and returned it to his pocket before answering. “Perhaps another time, sport. I think it’s about time we made a visit to Abigail, wouldn’t you say?”

Despite my mind being on overload, I had to agree. As much as I wanted to hear more about Hauser and his past, I needed to get Abigail out of her misery. I reflected on my sudden care for the old woman in the hospital. Just a few hours ago I couldn’t have cared less about her and her life. I attributed the deeper sense of caring to recent events.

“Yep,” I said, mocking Hauser’s standard reply. “Lead the way.” A moment later we both vanished from the park bench.

Chapter 8

Hauser and I appeared in Abigail’s hospital room at nearly the same moment. As I looked around the room, I noticed that we were not alone. There was an elderly gentleman sitting in a wheelchair alongside Abigail’s bed. I assumed that it was her husband, as he was dressed in a hospital gown and had one of those plastic patient ID bracelets strapped around his wrist. I looked at Hauser for guidance, but he just shrugged his shoulders.

“Really?” I asked.

“Jack, my friend, I believe you are going to be in for quite an experience. A rare occurrence indeed,” Hauser said.

I glanced at the elderly couple to see if I could tell what Hauser was talking about, but nothing stood out. When I turned to Hauser for an explanation, he was gone. He’d just disappeared.

“Shit,” I exclaimed aloud. Thankfully the husband was unable to hear me, and Abigail was unconscious.

As I stepped up to the side of Abigail’s bed, I wondered if I could collect a soul while another living person was in the room. I slipped my hand into my pocket and touched Abigail’s box. But before I could withdraw it, Abigail’s husband began to speak.

“Hello, my darling. Can you hear me?” he said. “It’s me. It’s me, Raymond, your husband. The doctors tell me that you’re in some rough shape, and they’re not sure if you’ll wake up again. I told them, my dear, that you are a tough woman, and that if there’s any way possible, you will make it back to me. You see, you have to. Make it back to me, that is, because I haven’t told you that I love you today. Abby, darling, I love you. And I’m sorry I haven’t made it to you sooner. Between my own injuries and your condition here in the ICU, they haven’t allowed me in until just now.”

At that point, Raymond pulled himself up from his wheelchair and gently kissed Abigail on her forehead. Slumping back into his seat, he continued to speak.

“Abby, my sweet, I hope you can hear my words, because I need you to hear them. I need you to know just how much you mean to me and how much of a pleasure it has been to be married to you for sixty-three years. I want you to know that I’ve been proud to have called you my wife every single day.” Raymond paused briefly to wipe the tears from his eyes and adjust his posture.

“Do you remember, darling, the day we met? I do. I’ve relived that day hundreds of times in my mind through the years. I was so thankful that you agreed to dance with me. Do you remember? I had just transferred from Osborne and I think it was maybe my second week at Madison. I had no friends, just a few people that agreed to tolerate me hanging around with them. I don’t know if I ever told you this, but each and every one of those boys had something of a crush on you. And let me tell you, they were fit to be tied when I up and asked you to dance. I can’t imagine what my life would be like today if you hadn’t said yes all those years ago.”

Raymond inched his wheelchair closer to Abigail’s bedside and adjusted her bedsheet enough so that he could touch her. With her hand free from under the covers, he slipped his own hand into hers. As I stood right next to the bed, I could see her hand close tightly in his.

“Oh, darling. My God, you can hear me. Abby, I love you with all my heart. You are an angel sent from heaven. My angel,” Raymond said, sobbing freely.

As I stood next to the couple, I fought back tears of my own. Suddenly I noticed Abigail’s eyes slide open. She glanced first at Raymond, smiling gently, then she turned her gaze toward me. With a movement so barely distinguishable, she bobbed her head up and down as she looked into my eyes. Her gaze told me that she was ready. A moment later her stare drifted up and to the right, and her mouth fell open.

Despite the intubation tube between her lips, her soul gently slipped past it and into the air. I was prepared, and slipped the box from my pocket, opening it in one swift motion. Abigail’s soul did not hesitate long before it entered the box completely. As the box closed, I brought it to my lips and inhaled slowly. The taste of Abigail’s soul was sweet, so sweet I swear that I have never tasted anything sweeter.

I pulled the box from my lips and then it vanished. In its place, a new box appeared in my hand. Without thinking, I read the name aloud.

“Raymond Whitaker.”

Chapter 9

“NO!” Raymond cried as the device at the side of Abigail’s bed began to blare warning sounds intermixed with a flat, dull tone.

I reached over and silenced the machine. When I returned my gaze to Raymond, I found his flooded eyes staring back at me.

“Oh my God, is that it?” he asked.

“I’m so sorry for your loss, Mr. Whitaker, but I’m afraid so. I assure you, your wife did not suffer long.”

“Oh, God. Oh, God, no. No. Please, no. Please, isn’t there anything you can do?” he begged.

All I knew was that it was her time to go. I wasn’t sure what I could tell him that would ease his pain. In addition to having no real knowledge of her medical condition, I was hesitant to say much of anything at this point.

“I… apologize. But her age was quite a factor in her condition,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound like a complete idiot. “The doctors here are the best in the region, and I assure you that if there was anything—”

“Wait, you’re not a doctor?” Raymond asked, drying his eyes on his shirt sleeve. “Come to think of it, I didn’t even hear you enter. When did you come in?”

Oh shit, I thought. Neither Wilson nor Hauser had told me what to do in a situation like this. Do I lie? Do I tell that I am a doctor after all? Or do I tell him I’m, what? A nurse? A priest? Think!

“No, I am not a doctor. I’m a… a counselor here, to lend an ear to those who have lost a loved one. And I apologize for not announcing my entrance. I am sometimes too quiet for my own good.”

“So that’s it? The doctors won’t try to bring her back?” Raymond asked.

Being somewhat familiar with how hospitals operate, I quickly recognized the red medical tag around Abigail’s wrist.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Whitaker, but your wife must have authorized a DNR. I’m sure that there was a valid reason for her to do so.”

Raymond slouched back in his wheelchair, looking defeated. “I… guess I remember them talking to me about something…” he mumbled.

“It’s okay, Mr. Whitaker. You may have been unaware of the situation, due to your own condition.”

“Abby and I talked about this just a few months ago. At our age we both agreed that we would not be a burden on one another, if something… happened. But never in my worst nightmare would I have imagined that it would be her going first.” Raymond began to cry again as he held her hand tightly. “Oh, Abby. What will I do now? How can I go on without you?”

“If you don’t mind my asking, how long were you and Mrs. Whitaker married?” I asked. Even though I had just heard his loving declaration, I figured a little extra coaxing for his soul couldn’t hurt.

“Abby and I were high school sweethearts. We met in our junior year, 1950, I think, and were married the year after we graduated. That was sixty-three years ago. Sixty-three wonderful years.”

“Abigail sounds like a wonderful woman. How was it that you two met?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

Raymond sat up in his chair and beamed. “Back in the day, Abigail was quite a stunner. All the boys in school constantly fell over themselves after her. I remember the day we met like it was yesterday.”

“I’d love to experience that day with you, if you would allow me to?” I asked.

“I… I don’t understand. How can you experience it with me? It was so long ago,” Raymond said.

I slid a chair up beside him and sat down. “Well, Mr. Whitaker, I have this coin, you see, that is mildly hypnotic. If you would allow me, I could take you back and relive that day one more time before—”

“Oh, yes! Please, yes. I would love to see her again, the way I saw her for the first time,” Raymond said eagerly.

I slipped the coin from my pocket and placed it in the palm of Raymond’s hand.

“Mr. Whitaker, I need you to focus on that day. That first day that you and Abigail met. When you have that vision firmly in your mind, I need you to turn the coin over.”

“That’s it? No dangling pocket watch to follow with my eyes?” Raymond asked.

I chuckled. “No, not quite. This coin is… somewhat different than the traditional hypnosis techniques,” I said, hoping that my words were believable.

Raymond closed his eyes tightly as he brought forth the memory. He held his hand close to his chest, squeezing the coin as he did so. A moment later, he turned the coin over.

Chapter 9.5

Raymond’s final class of the morning came to an end when the bell rang. Lunch hour was up next, and the activity in the hallways would be frantic, with everyone wanting to drop their books off at their lockers before heading to the cafeteria. That wasn’t on Raymond’s agenda, however. He was halfway through his third week of classes at the new school, and he’d only made a friend or two. Acquaintances, really, and both of them had basketball practice over their lunch hour. Raymond, however, had an irrational, potentially life-changing destination in mind.

Raymond heedlessly strolled through the cavernous hallways, waiting for the bustling crowds to funnel into the cafeteria.

As Raymond turned the corner that led to the school exit, he practically ran headfirst into another straggling student. A girl.

“I, uh… s-s-s-s-sorry,” Raymond said as he tried to step around her.

Raymond wasn’t surprised that the other students stayed away from him like they did. He knew it was because of his stuttering. Raymond had experienced random moments of stuttering all through school, but until just a month ago, the occurrences were few and far between. His parents attributed the reduction in his word stumbling to his comfort level with his peers. Now, with his dad taking a new job and moving the family across the river and into New Jersey, the stuttering had returned in full force.

“That’s quite all right, Raymond, is it?” the girl said.

“Y-y-yes, that’s right. My n-n-name is Raymond Whitaker,” he said, blushing at the chance meeting with arguably the prettiest girl that he had ever seen.

“You’re new here, right?” she asked, discreetly blocking Raymond’s path.

As butterflies and nerves battled it out in his gut, Raymond nodded, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“Well, on behalf of everyone here at Madison High, I officially welcome you to the home of the Bobcats,” she said, thrusting her hand toward him. “Hi, I’m Abigail. Abigail Caldwell, but all my friends call me Abby.”

“I… I, uh, kn-know who y-you are,” Raymond said. “We’ve had a f-few classes together.”

“Oh, right. You have Mr. Daniels for biology?”

“Y-yes, and we have history together t-t-too,” Raymond said, speaking as slowly as possible to minimize his stuttering.

“Oh, please. Don’t remind me. I detest history. I completely forgot to do my homework last night, and—”

“I can h-help you out, if you’d like,” Raymond eagerly offered, changing his plans on the fly.

“Sincerely? You would do that? That would be so cool. Are you heading to lunch now?” Abigail asked.

“Y-yes, I, um, just after I… I drop my books off at my locker.”

“Great, how about we sit together and go over the history lesson?”

Raymond’s tongue felt as thick as a slug and twice as sticky. Did the most popular girl in school just agree to have lunch with him?

“That would be n-n-nice, but won’t your friends be expecting you at their lunch t-table?”

“Yeah, sure, but they’ll understand. Besides, it’s not every day that you make a new friend,” Abigail said. She slipped her arm through Raymond’s as she steered him to his locker.

As Raymond opened his locker, Abigail leaned against the wall next to him and waited patiently. After Raymond stuffed every one of his schoolbooks back inside, he slipped out his history textbook and the associated notes before closing the door.

“Wow, do you always carry all your books around with you?” Abigail asked. “Or are you trying to get a workout while in the school hallways?”

“I, uh, was um…” Raymond began, trying to come up with an excuse that wouldn’t let on to his plans for self-destruction.

Abigail giggled. “It’s okay, Raymond, really. I’m just teasing. Ready?”

“Sure,” Raymond said before turning and heading toward the cafeteria.

“So, what was your previous school like? Did you have a lot of friends?” Abigail asked.

Raymond focused on each word before speaking, hoping that he could speak clearly. “It was… v-very similar to Madison. The school was in upstate New York, and folks were p-pretty friendly there, too. As for friends, I had a few. Most of them I’d gone to school with since the f-first grade.”

“Oh, how unfortunate. I would be a complete mess if I had to start over in a new school with no friends. Why did your family move here to New Jersey?”

“It was because of my dad. H-h-he got a new job at RCA, and they’re based here, so they transferred the whole f-family.”

“But couldn’t you and your mother have stayed in New York and just have your dad travel for work?”

Raymond shrugged. “You would think, but he insisted the whole f-f-family come. It’s all right though. I got a b-bigger bedroom with the move.”

“See? That’s the spirit. I like people that look at the brighter side of things.”

Raymond could have sworn that he felt his heart increase in size at the kindness that Abigail was showing him. It was the first time since being in the new town that his confidence began to return. With his newfound internal strength, he decided to throw caution to the wind.

“Abigail?”

“Please, Raymond. You can call me Abby.”

“I’d like that, Abby. Are you planning on going to the dance this Friday?”

“You sly,” Abby said, tugging on Raymond’s arm gently. “Why yes, Raymond. I was planning to go with a bunch of my girlfriends. How about you?”

“I… I haven’t decided yet,” Raymond said.

“Well, I think you should. Maybe we’ll see each other there,” Abby said as they turned the corner into the cafeteria.

Raymond smiled all the way through the lunch line and until they sat at a table, history books scattered in front of them.

Chapter 10

Raymond let the coin slip from his hand and drop to the floor, pulling us back to Abigail’s bedside. We couldn’t have been gone for more than a few minutes, but it seemed to me that Raymond had aged several years in that amount of time. His eyes had sunk in slightly, his flesh had faded to grey, and his posture drooped considerably. If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve thought he was already deteriorating, even though he hadn’t passed on yet.

“Thank you, Raymond, for sharing that wonderful moment with me,” I said.

“It’s hard to imagine how one day can truly define a person,” Raymond said. “That was my one day. Abby saved my life with her pure kindness,” Raymond said.

“How so?” I asked.

“What you didn’t see in that memory was the depth of my despair. At that point of the day, I had decided that I had had enough of my youthful obscurity. I was sixteen, and the world didn’t even know I existed. My father was a workaholic, my mother an alcoholic. My sister… well, she just existed in her own little world, and to hell with everyone else. Having transferred midway through my junior year of high school left me friendless and completely isolated. Depression wasn’t really a thing back then, and there were very few people that knew how to deal with it. So that afternoon, I was going to take matters into my own hands.”

“Oh no, Raymond. Please tell me you weren’t going to—”

“I don’t know what I would’ve done, but I did know that I was going to go home for lunch that d-day and, and n-never come back. I w-was going t-to run away or… who knows, I may have ended up killing myself too. God knows the thought crossed my mind so many times.”

The room fell silent. Several moments passed as I tried to find the right words to say, but I couldn’t piece together anything worth a shit. Was this fate’s way of throwing life in my face? Was this God’s plan to show me that if I hadn’t taken those pills, Cyndi may have been my very own form of Abigail? Assuming we could have made it past her infidelity.

“I… I’m not sure what to say, Raymond. I think you’re right, Abigail may very well have been your guardian angel.”

“That’s exactly what she was. After that day, Abby became my best friend. I did go to that dance that Friday night, and we danced all night long. Much to the chagrin of all the other boys in my class. Several months later, Abby became more than just my friend. I was convinced that she was my soulmate. Abigail Caldwell was my first and only true love,” Raymond said as he slumped sideways in his wheelchair.

Raymond’s strength was clearly draining rapidly. I knew his death was imminent, and I wondered if I should tell him anything about who I really was.

Before I could make a decision, Raymond leaned forward and tried to pull himself upright. His first attempt was a failure, his frail body falling back into his wheelchair. On his second attempt, he was able to use the guardrail on the side of the bed to assist him in standing. Once up, he shuffled his feet closer to Abigail’s bedside before he stopped. I knew what he was going to do, and there was nothing I could do to help. It was like a train wreck about to happen, and all I could do was watch.

He took several deep breaths before he lifted his leg up, sliding it on the edge of the bed. With his right hand, he reached across Abigail’s body and gripped the far handrail. In his awkward three-point stance, Raymond pushed off the ground with his left foot, while pulling himself up with his right hand.

Once fully on the bed, Raymond adjusted his position around his dead wife, their two bodies unified. He began to weep.

“Oh, Abby. Why have you left me? I’m not strong enough to live this life without you.” Raymond said ignoring the tears streaking down his cheek. “God, why couldn’t you have taken me and let my wife live? She had the kindest soul. You could’ve taken me and spared her life. She could have continued on to spread so much joy—the joy that she has given me for so many years. Why her?”

As I witnessed Raymond declaring his love for his wife and pleading to his God, I knew the moment was imminent. I slipped my hand into my pocket and gripped the wooden box in preparation.

“Raymond, there is—” I said, beginning to tell him why I was really there, when I was interrupted by the sound of a man clearing his throat.

I turned toward the sound and saw Hauser standing at the foot of the bed. He was dressed like a doctor, complete with a stethoscope slung around his neck. As he and I looked at each other, his eyes piercing, he shook his head discreetly. Understanding, I nodded and released my grip on the wooden box. I looked back at Raymond as he laid his head on his wife’s shoulder and began to shudder from his uncontrollable sobs.

Until that moment, I don’t think that I had ever witnessed true love so completely. Selfishly, I envied his love for Abigail. I only wished that the love Cyndi and I had had was just as true, before…

As I contemplated my horrific life choices, Raymond’s shuddering began to subside and his breathing began to slow. His eyes closed, and for a moment he looked like he was in total peace.

I glanced back at Hauser, who motioned for me to open the box. I quickly retrieved the box from my pocket and opened it, placing it on the edge of the bed. A few moments later, Raymond’s lips parted and his soul shot from his open mouth directly into the box, nearly tumbling it off the bed.

Chapter 11

The sudden burst of Raymond’s soul made me jump. Startled, I stared across the bed at the box sitting on the edge. From behind me, I heard a faint chuckle. Turning, I saw Hauser quickly cover his mouth, silencing his outburst.

“You insensitive prick,” I said without thinking. “How can you think this tender, touching moment is funny?”

“Relax, Jack. I wasn’t laughing at the couple. I was laughing at you. You jumped nearly a foot in the air,” he said, laughing even louder.

“Oh, shut up,” I said, fighting back my own internal laughter.

“I have to say, Jack, your training will certainly go down in infamy. First you have to collect your own wife’s soul, and then this—such a beautiful display of love and dedication.”

“Don’t forget to mention that crazy gang fight that you dragged me to. That was pretty epic, you have to admit.”

“You know it, kid. It’s all going in my report for sure.”

“So I’m being graded on this?” I asked.

“Well, sort of. The Sentinel”—Hauser’s voice lowered—“they like to keep tabs on pretty much everything.”

I began to wonder if there was something more to our employers that Hauser wasn’t telling me. I made a mental note to bring it up later.

“I have to ask. When did you know that I would be collecting both of their souls? You did know, right?”

“Yeah, I kind of knew. The moment we walked back in and saw the husband sitting next to the bed, I could see a… faint aura around him. It’s nothing scientific by any means, but it’s just something that I’ve learned to sense through the years. I’m sure, with enough experience of your own, you’ll be able to pick up on certain things along the way as well.”

“So, including Wilson, I’ve now bagged seven souls. How am I doing?” I asked. “How am I really doing?”

“All in all, Jack, I think you’re right on par with the majority of my training candidates. There’s a few things that you could work on, but I think you have what it takes.”

“Wow, you make it sound like I’m auditioning for a job. Am I?”

“I’m not gonna lie to you, buddy. It’s true. Not everybody is cut out for this job. You are ahead of the curve, but don’t get cocky.”

I smiled before looking at Raymond and Abigail one last time. Satisfied that this was a job well done, I began to move toward the door.

“Um, aren’t we forgetting something?” Hauser asked.

I stopped and turned back toward the hospital bed where Raymond’s soul box was sitting.

“Oh, shit,” I exclaimed. I first grabbed the coin from the floor and slipped it into my pocket. Then I went for the box. Picking it up, I placed my lips around the extrication portal and inhaled deeply. The taste of Raymond’s soul reminded me of clover honey, with a hint of cinnamon. Once the flavor was gone, the box disappeared and was again replaced with a new one. Turning it over, I looked for the name of my next assignment but was slightly confused when there was none carved on the lid.

“Huh. It looks like I got a dud. There’s nothing on the box,” I said as I turned it toward Hauser.

Hauser leaned closely, scrutinizing every detail of the ornate wooden box. “Well, that’s not good.”

“So, you’ve seen a blank box before?”

Hauser whistled softly. “I have to say, Jack. I’m at a bit of a loss for words right now.”

“You? At a loss?” I chuckled and turned the box around in my hand to get a better look myself. As I did so, I began to see the faint outline of a name form right in front of me. “Wait a minute. I think there might be something here.”

Hauser stepped close and we both watched intently as a name etched into the box lid. As the moments passed, the name engraved deeper into the wood and started to became legible.

“Noah Clayton,” I read aloud.

As the name left my mouth, Hauser yanked the pocket watch from his trousers so quickly I expected the chain to snap.

“So? What does your watch say about Noah, here?” I asked, assuming his watch with no numbers was closely related to the soul collecting business.

Frown lines formed at the edges of Hauser’s eyes as he intently studied the images on his watch. “I… have to go,” Hauser said as he snapped his watch shut.

“But what about my training?”

“Uh, you’re doing fine, sport. This Noah Clayton seems like an ordinary mark. I’m going to let you take the lead on this one for a while. Can you handle that?”

“Well, sure. I can’t imagine it could be any worse than what I’ve already had to deal with. Is there something the matter?” I asked, concerned with Hauser’s sudden behavior change.

“Oh, it’s probably nothing. It’s…” Hauser paused and took one last glance at the box in my hand. “I have to go. Promise me, Jack, that you stay on task with this one. No more returning to your old apartment?”

“Yeah, sure. You have my word. These last few days have really opened my eyes about what we do. Although I have deep regrets, I understand now that my past is unchangeable.”

Hauser patted me firmly on the back. “That’s really great to hear, Jack. I was hoping that at the end of the day you would have in fact learned something.”

“That I have,” I said, feeling a tug on my emotions, knowing the thoughts of Cyndi would continue to drift further from my own reality.

“Well then, what say you and I get out of here. You’ve got a soul to collect and I have… somewhere to be.”

Hauser smiled at me, then vanished. I looked once more at Raymond and Abigail, their bodies woven together in an eternal stillness, before I vanished myself.