The Soul Catcher

by Rowanne Carberry

  THE SOUL CATCHER

  Rowanne S Carberry

  Copyright © 2016

  Rowanne S Carberry

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the authors imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, alive or dead, business, establishments, locales or events is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission from the author. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, please return to your favourite e-book retailer, and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting this author’s hard work.

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter One

  I had an awful feeling today. I woke up with a ball of lead resting heavily in my stomach. I didn’t want to get up and go to work. I was tempted to call in sick, but I couldn’t think of a valid reason. If I didn’t go in every time I felt a slight hint of dread, well, I live in England and it rains a lot. That makes me dread that my straightened hair is going to be frizzy by the time I get to work and that my makeup is going to be running down my face.

  If I stopped whenever I felt dread, I wouldn’t go on first dates, or try that new dish from the Indian takeaway. I wouldn’t dance with a stranger in a club or shake a new acquaintance's hand. I'd stop hugging my friends for fear of the visions I might have. I’ve had to learn to ignore the dread or it would have stopped me living what little of a life I have.

  This didn’t feel like that normal everyday dread though. I stayed in bed for another half an hour before the feeling finally lessened enough for me to find some energy. After dragging myself out of the house and being sucked into the monotony of the day, I somehow managed to forget about the feeling.

  I work in a call centre — an inbound one thankfully; I couldn’t stand working in a cold calling centre — but this is where the monotony of the day comes in.

  “Hello. This Jemma at Chambers programming, how may I help you?” Over and over again. I get sick of saying my own name. In one day, I must answer at least twenty phone calls, and that’s an extremely slow day. That’s saying my own name a minimum of twenty times. Monotonous.

  Even though it’s an inbound call centre, we’re still expected to try to sell products to the customers that phone us, and we get a nice bonus if we manage to continually upgrade accounts, sell extra software, and basically do anything else that will earn the company extra money. It’s not a horrendous job, but it’s not what I would choose, given an option. I’m a people person but, as I’m sure you’ve already guessed, working with people where the chance of touching them is very high wouldn't be ideal.

  Also, for some reason, there are never many ghosts in call centres.

  Have I told you that I see ghosts yet? It’s not fun, but at least there are less in the call centre. It’s like they think that they could die again from the boredom.

  Eight hours later, and my work day is finally over. Grabbing my jacket and bag, I head out of the office and instantly feel the lead ball return to my stomach. I hate days like this. I managed to ignore the feeling for a while by distracting myself with work, but the second I’ve stopped, it’s come back.

  I nip into the local corner shop to grab something to eat for the night, and a few other bits and pieces that I need, before finally heading home. Not looking where I’m going: I walk out of the shop, the next thing I know I’m on my arse, landing straight on a cracked paving stone that’s covered in chewing gum. The door to the shop slams shut behind me and my bag of shopping spills.

  Putting my hand down to give myself a push up, I put it right in a bit of chewing gum I hadn’t spotted. Lifting my hand quicker than I thought possible, I wipe it on my top. And then look in despair at the white mark staining it and the flecks of blood from the grazed hand. I’m tempted to just stay sitting on the disgusting street but the streetlights flicker on and the air is getting cooler so I know if I stay here I’ll end up getting ill.

  I can already feel a pinprick of pain. I just know I’m going to have a bruise that will make it uncomfortable to sit for a couple of days. As tears well up in my eyes I’m just glad that there’s no one else around to see the mess I’ve gotten myself into. That is until I hear the tinkling of the bell that’s above the shop door.

  “Just great,” I mutter to myself before getting my knees beneath me and pushing myself to them.

  I feel a hand on my arm and everything goes black.

  * * *

  Slowly, colour starts seeping in, a deep red colour. It looks as though someone has taken rust, mixed it with water to make a paste, and spread it over the floor with splatters going up the wall. As more colour seeps in, my view widens. Now I can see what has made the mess. In the middle of a darkened bedroom, lit only by a flash of sunlight sneaking through a pair of partly-opened curtains, is a woman with long black hair wrapped around her face, obscuring all features bar one green eye. It looks luminous against the black. She has shallow cuts across nearly every inch of her skin and bruises across the rest. Her chest jerks with a shallow breath and I realise she’s still alive.

  That’s when I hear the laugh.

  My insides turn to ice as my blood runs hot with fear. Standing over the woman is an immaculately dressed, good looking man. In his hand is a large knife, blood slowly dripping to the floor. Sensing his presence, the woman on the ground begins to squirm.

  A softly whispered, “No more,” floats throughout the room.

  He laughs again and steps over the outline of a circle that’s drawn on top the carpet. He kneels down in her blood, the carpet squelching beneath his knees. He holds his arm in the air with the knife pointing to the sky, says something I can’t quite hear, and then brings down the knife, slashing it across the woman’s throat.

  Her chest jerks again, but this time it's her life draining away.

  I watch with horror as a purple light escapes between the frozen lips of the woman. The room is plunged into deeper darkness as shadows crawl from the circle and surround the body on the floor. As more of the purple light escapes, my heart stops. The man bends his head towards the light that's now obscured by shadow and sucks in the remaining purple light.

  * * *

  I come back round to screams reverberating in my ears. It takes me a moment to realise that it’s me making those awful sounds. I stop as soon as I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself, before scrambling up and out of reach of the person who is talking to me.

  “Oh my god, I am so sorry. Have I hurt you? I’m so clumsy.” She finally lets go of my arm and notices cuts on my hands. “They look painful, have you hurt your arm to? Is that why you’re screaming? I only wanted to help you up. Did you trip on that paving stone? Should I phone for an ambulance?” The woman witters.

  All I can do is stare at her. The woman standing in front of me, filled with so much life, is the woman I have just seen have the strange purple light sucked out her. It takes me a moment to separate my vision from reality.

  Sha
king my head, I step forward and grab hold of the woman's hands, keeping a firm hold on them even with as she tried to pull away from me. I can see panic in eyes.

  “Whoever the man is, the one with hair the colour of spun gold and eyes as blue as the ocean, do not go with him. You don’t know what he is or what he’s capable of.” I wait to see the recognition in her eyes, to see that she knows who I mean before I let go of her hands and step back.

  She gulps and a sigh of relief runs through me. Thinking she believes me, I turn around and start to pick up my shopping, stopping at a tap on my shoulder. Turning around to face the woman, I see that she's standing with her hands on her hips, shopping bag dangling from her elbow, and an eyebrow quirked up.

  “Just who the hell do you think you are, telling me what I can and can’t do?” She's got her lips pursed together.

  I struggle to think of what to say to her for a moment. “I just... he’s not a good person.”

  “And how would you know that?” She asks me, her eyebrow going up even higher than I thought possible. It looks quite comical but I know I can't laugh.

  “I used to, we, I know him okay? I saw your reaction when I told you to stay away from him; you must know what I mean.”

  I can see her trying to work out which way to go with this and watch the transformation of her face going from defiant to worried and finally settling on anger.

  “Have you been watching us? Are you like his ex or something and you’re trying to warn other people away from him? Weirdo.”

  I watch in dismay as she walks off into the now very dark night. Everything in me is screaming at me to go and follow her, to do anything I can to keep her from meeting up with the man I saw in my vision. I let a quick fantasy run through my head of following her and grabbing her, taking her home with me and keeping her there until I can persuade her I’m telling the truth.

  But I quickly let the thought leave my head. That could never happen. I don't really fancy going to jail for kidnapping. I don’t really want to go to jail for anything.

  I can still see her in the distance so I shout after her to be careful. Her shoulders hunch forward. She slows down for a second and I’m hopeful she’s going to turn around and come back, but she just carries on walking, disappearing round a corner into the night.

  I sigh. There’s nothing else I can do. I can't save everyone. I just have to hope that she’s going to think about what I’ve said, and that it will resonate with her somewhere in the back of her mind.

  Bending down to pick up my shopping bag, I let out a groan of frustration as I see my pint of milk has leaked all over the floor. It’s all over my trousers too. Looking around for a bin, I see one in the direction I’m going to be walking. I pick up the milk carton, shove the rest of my shopping back into my bag, and make my way home — throwing the spilt milk in the bin as I pass.

  Finally home, I put away my shopping, forgoing the ready meal I was going to have for a glass of wine and a bar of chocolate. After working my way through the bottle of wine, I still couldn’t get the vision of my head. The wine hadn’t helped to take my mind off things. Or to numb the pain of what I was feeling.

  Heading into the kitchen, I open the medicine cabinet and take two sleeping tablets with the dregs of the wine before making my way to bed. I’m not proud of the fact that I resort to the pills. But if you saw the things that I did... you would need something to knock you out too.

  Chapter Two

  “Police have confirmed that the missing woman, Nicole Brown, has been found. Police aren’t yet releasing details of the death but have confirmed Miss Brown is believed to be the fourth known victim of the killer the public have named `The Soul Catcher,` thanks to a leaked image of a bible verse left at the scene of the murders.

  “Police are looking for anyone who can help them trace Miss Brown’s last known movements. Please contact them on the following numbers...” I zone out as the numbers are read out and scroll across the bottom of the screen. I gawp at the picture of the woman.

  She was the one who I saw on Monday.

  Abandoning my lunch in the break room, I run to the toilets and bring up what feels like everything I’ve eaten in the last few days.

  “Are you okay in there?”

  I groan and drag myself up, knowing what I have to do. I open the door to see my boss standing there. “I think I need to go home.”

  Looking at me with thinly veiled revulsion, she says, “Yes, I think you do. Clean yourself up. I’ll get Sam to log you off and get your things for you.” My boss walks out of the toilets, leaving me to clean myself up.

  Looking in the mirror, I can see where the look on her face has come from. I have vomit splashed over my new top and my face is dripping with sweat. My normally blue eyes were nearly all black with my pupils being enlarged. Taking my hair out of its ponytail, I scrape back all the loose bits before putting it up in a bun so it’s out of the way. I run some cold water and splash it over my face and neck before leaving, hoping to cool myself down.

  * * *

  I’ve been standing outside the police station for ages. I know I have to go in and tell them what I’d seen in my vision, but how? Am I just supposed to tell them that I hadn’t physically seen the murder happening, but that I’d had a vision? That I knew he’d used a knife and could tell them wound for wound how she’d been mutilated? That I saw him wrap her in shadows and then suck something out of her body? Well, maybe I shouldn’t tell them that that part. Or any of it actually.

  Turning around, I walk away from the station. I’m halfway down the road and nearly at the bus stop before guilt makes an appearance. I could really help them catch him I think to myself. I could also end up in a straitjacket. It’s no good though: my stomach is churning and my feet are heavy as I try to walk towards the bus. Sighing, I turn around and head back to the station.

  Standing in front of the doors, I finally manage to psyche myself up and force myself to walk through the entrance of the station. You might be wondering why I decided to come here in person and not just phone them, but let me ask you this; would you believe me if I phoned you to say I’d had a vision of a woman being brutally murdered and could describe the man who did it, or would you write me off as another crazy nut job making a prank phone call? Yeah, I thought so too, which is why I’m now standing at the front desk.

  “Hello.” Neither of the officers sitting behind the plastic screen look at me.

  “Hello,” I say, a little louder this time. The woman glances up at me as though I am a complete irritation to her.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Well, yes, you can. I actually I need to speak…” I trail off as she turns away from me and starts talking to a different officer that’s walked through the door. He doesn’t even glance in my direction.

  Trying again, I start speaking. No one pays me any attention, not even when I mention the name of the woman who had been murdered.

  I am seriously pissed off. I don’t want to be here but I am — the least they could do is pay attention to me. Lifting my hand up, I go to knock on the plastic when I notice a little bell that has a label reading “Ring me for attention.” Well, it’s got to be done, hasn’t it?

  Pressing my finger against the bell I lean against it until I finally have the attention of all the three officers behind the desk.

  “I am extremely sorry to interrupt what must have been an tremendously important conversation but, as I have been trying to tell you for the last few minutes, I would like to talk to Detective Mitchell please.”

  The officer that walked in last comes over and sits down behind the plastic.

  “And why is that?” he asks, his deep voice carrying around the room, green eyes sparkling in amusement.

  “Has no one been listening to me at all?” My voice going up a pitch, I wince at how I must sound. The officers all have the grace to look down at that. I sigh in frustration as I repeat myself again.

  “I would like to speak to Detective Mitchell
in relation to Nicole Brown. I have some information that needs sharing.”

  That gets their attention. The woman I’d seen when I first came in scuttles away after whispering something I can’t hear to her colleagues. Green eyes look at me, the amusement gone.

  “If you’d like to take a seat, someone will be with you shortly.” He points to some seats that were just down a corridor. I walk over to them and sat myself down, hoping it wouldn’t be long.

  Chapter Three

  I think I would rather be back on the plastic chairs in the waiting room. The room I’m in now is tiny. Four blank walls, all painted beige. The only thing breaking up the colour is the black door. The room is so small that I was genuinely shocked when I first walked in that they’d managed to fit in a table and four chairs. Add three people in here and it’s almost unbearable.

  There are two officers with me, I’ve named them Officer One and Officer Two. They have names, but I can’t remember what they are and I’m sick of repeating myself. Officer One is the guy with the green eyes, and that spark of amusement is back in them now. Under different circumstances, I would have found him quite attractive, green eyes, floppy black hair, what looks like a muscular body under that suit. But right now, he’s just pissing me off.

  Officer Two is just as annoying. Even looking at him is annoying me. He’s skinny, bald, and has a high-pitched voice. It’s him that’s talking to me right now and I have to force myself to listen.

  “So tell me again. You’re saying that you touched this woman and then had some kind of vision about how she died, where you conveniently saw who murdered her? You’re also telling us that you’ve had these visions all your life?”

  I thought his voice was high pitched before, by the end of his sentence its gone up to a note only dogs could hear.

  “Yes. Yes, that is exactly what I’ve been telling you for the last hour whilst you’ve been asking me these questions.” Officer One and Two look at each other and I can just tell that they’re trying not to laugh at me. More than anything in the world, I want to stand up and stretch. The chair I’m on is so uncomfortable. I’m sure the bruise on my bum that was only just starting to fade is coming back in full force.