The Soul Seekers

by Amy Saia

  After taking a shortcut behind the gazebo, I cut through the square and headed across the street to the alleyway, stopping when I saw those same men circling the van. I turned around quickly, away from the scene. I’d have to get it later.

  “Miss! Miss,” they yelled behind me.

  I picked up my pace.

  “Young lady!”

  Screeching tires met my ears, followed by the sound of a loud motor. Only one car in town made that sound.

  When I jumped in Jesse looked panicked. “God, Emma. What’s wrong with you?”

  “I lost the coin.”

  “What?”

  “In that van over there—I think. That has to be where it is. Let’s wait until those men leave and we can look for it.”

  “What in the hell where you doing in someone’s van?”

  “Long story.”

  “I’m really starting to wonder about you. Here I’ve left my gig to save your ass, while you’ve been hanging out in someone’s van?”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “What is it then?” His eyes narrowed, hands pressed hard around the steering wheel.

  As the group of men came toward us, Jesse revved the car loud. They halted their step. “You’d better tell me something because I’m getting really pissed off.”

  “I think I’m still high.”

  “You’re what?”

  “The drink. Something was in my drink.”

  Marcus reached out to grab at my door handle.

  “Jesse, go!”

  Jesse fumbled with the steering wheel and let out a curse. He shifted gears, sending the car forward with spinning tires.

  I threw on a seatbelt as he chartered us down Main at high speed. He had to swerve to avoid the crowd, but never eased up. In a few minutes we were well into the undivided perimeters of town, but it was a long time before he slowed down, eyes glued to the road ahead.

  Jesse repeated, “Who was in the van with you?”

  “No one. Just a guy that hangs out at the library every day.” And he faded. He faded right in front of me. My mind replayed the scene in slow motion.

  “Just a guy,” he said in a mocking tone. “No guy is ever just a guy, Emma. We’re all,” he struggled to find an appropriate word, “monsters.”

  “Nothing happened. He must have the coin.”

  Jesse shook his head, disbelief crossing the planes of his face. The car skidded to a dead halt on the gravel road. “You gave him the coin.”

  “I didn’t give it to him, but I can’t find it, so. . . .”

  “You gave him the only thing that would pay my way out of here. I’ve been waiting my whole life to get out of this rat hole and you just give it away? Dammit!”

  With a groan Jesse slid down into his seat, fingers pressing into the bridge of his nose.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Did you kiss him?”

  “No.”

  “Well, that’s a relief. I can die easy now, knowing I’m not the only guy Emma Shay has rejected.”

  “Enough already.”

  Jesse played with the keys that dangled from the ignition for a second. He leaned over and I heard the click of a door lock being flipped up.

  I let out a little gasp.

  He spoke low. “What’s wrong? Still don’t trust me?”

  I refused to answer.

  He shoved open the passenger door. “Out.”

  Grabbing my purse, I stepped onto gravel, wincing as he revved the car to a viciously loud roar. We glared at each other. When he saw I wasn’t going to throw myself at him, he gave an angry shake of his head and hit the gas. The Camaro sped away, roiling the air with dust, abandoning me.

  I should have thrown rocks. I wanted to throw rocks.

  After watching the taillights recede into nothingness, I started to walk. I took off my shoes, and the gravel crunched and rolled under my feet. The wind blew through the dark cornfields and twisted in my hair like a hot, invisible thread. I watched the horizon and the ominous bluffs rising up to the moon.

  I began to run. It felt good to run. The wind took my hair and flung it up into the air. It swooshed into my skirt and flew around my thighs. Running felt like I was going somewhere, like time would never end, like no one would ever die. Not Dad, not William. No one.

  The tightness in my chest spread into a burn as I pushed harder and shoved each leg out, one after the other. Aluminum tabs from soda cans littered the gravel. I dodged them, though the gravel itself pricked into my soles. I recalled being a child and running down the street because I had spilled paint in the garage. The gravel had hurt then, cutting into soft flesh that was easily healed by sympathetic kisses. My feet were tougher now, and I welcomed each puncture that met my skin.

  Finally I saw the lights of town twinkling in among the waving hills of pitch-dark earth that surrounded me. I ran along the neighborhoods, past the water tower, the American Legion building. When I reached the square I slowed down, and, panting hard, walked to stand by the empty gazebo; humidity and sweat gluing the long strands of my hair to my neck like sticky spaghetti. A few people remained, tearing apart their concessions. I hung out and watched, not wanting to go home.

  I looked all around the town, starting with the gothic-looking Springvale Savings and Loan where Mom worked every day. Its white painted limestone and arched entryway threw a sheath of darkness over the street with a half-orbed moon high above its flat roof.

  The old colonial bed and breakfast held up the south corner of the square; its welcoming front porch and hanging ferns looked too homey for the severity of a town street. Sending out a warning were the high gabled windows on the roof that cut into the sky like a row of bayonets.

  A stretch of quaint-looking shops decorated the whole perimeter with bright painted signs above each entry. Then there was the square itself, now gutted like a fish, paper scattered everywhere, gazebo looking painfully empty. A glance into the alley showed the van was gone.

  My eyes moved to a tall structure of red brick with white, Grecian-looking pillars standing protectively on either side of a low flight of stairs. The library.

  I headed in its direction, stopping just short of the front railing. A cold breeze washed over me, cleansing the awful heat that had permeated and broiled my skin for the last few hours. My fingers curled around an iron slat as another wave curved around my neck in delicious flowing air.

  I felt along the wall for the loose brick Ethel used to hide her extra key. I’d just go in for a minute to sort myself out before going home.

  After closing and locking the door behind me, I felt along the wall for the switch to turn on a low set of lights by the front desk. Halogen buzzed. I threw my sandals down on the floor before moving to sit in Ethel’s chair. A leaf hung in the lower strands of my hair. I plucked it out.

  The tears started. They flowed down in unrelenting streams, joined by the occasional groan caused by the painful images being released from my mind. Dad—watching him die back in Colorado Springs. Mom and her soulless escape from reality, while I flailed about for something to hold on to. The funeral. The move. Grandmother Carrie’s face the day she saw we had nothing but a few boxes to call home.

  And there was him—every day, him. Beautiful, silent—

  mine.

  I moved my cheek to rest along my forearm, and caught the time on Ethel’s little desk radio. I should probably start heading home, although walking the streets at midnight wasn’t the most appealing idea. I closed my eyes and felt my conscience sharpen then blur away into sleep.

  I awoke to the glow of daylight pressing on my eyelids, my head nestled against the soft pad of my forearm. Brushing away the hair that was stuck to my cheek, along with one of the beaded earrings, I reached up to stretch, but stopped s
hort at the sight of a filmy shadow in the front window. I watched it grow and form; a human shape empty like a glass, filling up with the colors of the sunrise, until slowly, it became a solid being.

  I knew I wasn’t dreaming, and there was no way I was hallucinating this. It was real. He was real.

  “Amazing,” I whispered.

  His voice was soft, warm. “Emma. Do you believe now?”

  “Yes,” I answered, finally admitting it to myself more than to him. William was the one I wanted to be with; he who I was running to.

  10: Dawn

  “Okay, I have a burning question.”

  “Go for it.”

  “How does one just disappear and appear like that?”

  “It’s easy when one is only half-alive.”

  “How does one become . . . half-alive?”

  “When the cult steals their soul.”

  “Oh. Yeah.” I nodded my head. “Actually,” I shook my head, “I’m really confused.”

  “It’s simple. I’m the invisible man.”

  “Are you real?”

  William smiled, moving from the front window to sit on the edge of the desk. He held out an arm. “Let’s see. Can you feel me?”

  I ran a finger along his forearm. “Yes.”

  “You’re the only one who can. Well, besides Marcus and his little group.” His expression turned sour at the name.

  I felt the skin along his jaw, touching lightly the hair that curled in dark waves along his neck. I touched the warm, dark rose-colored curve of his lower lip and paused there. Our eyes met. Like a slow train, he leaned in to kiss me. My fingers curled into his hair, and I heard him whisper, “Emma,” a little bit happy, a little bit tragic.

  William could kiss me forever. I knew now, without a doubt, that he was the reason I was in Springvale, and everything that had happened was worth it.

  His lips were ice-cold, but they turned warm in seconds; they were soft and full, strong, hungry. The kiss ended, and he pulled his mouth from mine but stayed close, hands cupping at my face. “I’m sorry,” William whispered. “I should be able to control myself.”

  “I’m not complaining,” I whispered back, trying not to show my disappointment when he pulled away regardless, sitting back on the edge of the desk.

  “I haven’t felt another human’s skin in so long.”

  “I haven’t felt a ghost’s skin before, so I guess we’re even.”

  “A ghost,” he repeated. “I suppose that’s what I am to you.”

  William sat looking at his hands, thumbs playing a wrestling game with each other in his lap. He looked up again. “Well, here we are. Ethel won’t be in today, she never comes in on Sunday, and I always get the whole place to myself.”

  I pushed away from the desk and about fell to the floor with a sleep-numbed leg. I smiled in shy embarrassment, looking up at him as I put on my sandals. Everything—the way he sat, the way he moved—I was beyond enchanted.

  “I should probably go, right? I mean, we can talk later if you want. I guess I look pretty horrible right now anyway, with no shower and all.” I reached for my purse.

  “Horrible?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Horrible at choosing words maybe.”

  Breathe, Emma. I let out a little laugh. “Horrible at many things.” I remembered the coin. “Especially with losing stuff. I can’t find the coin.”

  Without waiting for a reaction, because I’d already been through that and it left me in the middle of a gravel road, I dumped my whole purse onto the desk. Billfold, book, comb, packet of bank money for a car bought then returned, three pens, and some chewing gum: it all fell out into a pile. I sorted through the mess, stopping to watch as William lifted the tan corduroy fabric and slipped a finger into its satin lining.

  “Coin,” he said, producing it with a swift flip of his hand. “It was there the whole time.”

  William held it up to look for a moment, but then handed it over with a panicked expression. I reached for it, clasping my fingers around it as a shield.

  “Why did they do this to you?”

  “According to them, I have the strongest soul they have ever seen. If they can claim it, their cult will become powerful enough to leave Springvale and take anyone’s soul—anytime, anywhere.”

  “For what purpose? Why would a church want to do something like that?”

  “It started many years ago. They need souls to gain immortality. The more they collect, the longer they’ll live.”

  I meticulously placed the coin back into the billfold’s coin pocket and shut the clasps with a firm snap. “I still don’t understand, but I want to help.”

  William grew tense. “You can help by leaving town.”

  “Leave town? Someone needs to help you fight these . . . men, whatever they are. I can do it. I mean, what do I have to lose anyway? Something in me says it’s meant to be. I was meant to be here for you.”

  “How fatalistic. And sad.”

  I clutched my purse to my chest. “No more than you living as a nobody for—how long has it been?”

  “Twenty-three years.”

  I swallowed hard just thinking about it. My brain started to do the calculation, which he was quick to pick up on.

  “Nineteen-fifty six.”

  I could cry for him, how terrible to be alone for that many years. “Well, I’m sorry, but I’m helping you and that’s that.”

  “I was afraid of this.” William paused. “If you really want to help me, there are certain things you can do, but I swear, if I ever catch you near those men. . . .”

  I sat down again, sporting a huge grin. “How can I help?” He tried to stun me with a death stare, but I was past that. “Hmm?” I prodded.

  William sighed and walked over to grab a chair from one of the tables, straddling it in front of me. His face was inches from mine, cupped oh so handsomely in his right hand. “You have psychic powers. We’ll use those. We will strengthen them.”

  “You keep saying I have these powers. What makes you so sure?”

  His fingers stretched out across the chair back to almost touch my arm. “Just a feeling, I guess.”

  “I think you’re wrong.”

  He laughed. “It’s a tough thing to accept, but I think you have some abilities, maybe stronger than mine. Listen Emma, it’s like we’re radios, you and I, and there’s a signal being sent out between us. The more we talk, the stronger it gets. Most people don’t have their antennas up, and the signals they give are weak. But we have super-government grade, FBI workings, and are able to pick up what no one else can. Does that make any sense?”

  “I haven’t been able to until now.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I was slow to answer.

  William continued, “I’ll bet you have all of your life, but you didn’t know what it was. I denied my abilities growing up. It’s a pretty heady thing being able to hear the thoughts of your first grade teacher, or the guy who lives next door. It scared me, and I spent many years pretending I was normal. I didn’t feel normal. I felt crazy.” His eyes deepened when they looked into mine. “I’m telling you that you aren’t crazy, and you do have this gift.”

  I took a long breath. “Okay, maybe I can sense things once in a while. What good does that do me? Why should I get all worked up about it?”

  “Because you can do great things with this ability, if you choose.”

  My heart thudded. “You said I couldn’t—”

  “You can use it to protect yourself,” he said with authority. “You must never put yourself in a situation where you could get hurt. Got that?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  After a pause, he said, “Let’s do a test. I’ll send a thought to you, and you tell me what I said.”

  “Oka
y.”

  “Close your eyes.”

  I really didn’t want to, not when those sparkling blue were so close to mine. But I did as ordered, closing them with only a slight cheat for a split second. In another moment his voice filtered into my head like a whisper from a far away telephone line in Beijing.

  Emma Shay is going to do everything I tell her, and not get into any trouble.

  “I couldn’t hear a word,” I lied. “Try something different.”

  “Okay.”

  This time it came in louder.

  You heard the last one, you little cheat.

  I made a grimace, eyes still closed. “I heard it. Let me try you now.”

  I looked up in time to see his eyelids closing down, dark lashes brushing against pale, finely-chiseled cheeks.

  Oh God, I couldn’t think of anything proper to say that wouldn’t incriminate me. The idea of him hearing my inner thoughts was terrifying. Could he hear pictures? Sweet Jesus, the pictures in my mind.

  “Relax, Emma. I’m getting a whole bunch of crazy.”

  I took a deep breath and released the first thing that came.

  I’d die for you.

  11: Connected

  The chair shoved away from me. “NO!”

  I hadn’t meant to think it, really. But it was by far the strongest contender against ‘I love you’ and ‘kiss me again.’

  He grabbed a book off Ethel’s shelf top display and threw it against the back wall. He got in my face, hands gripping my chair. “Have you ever been in a hurricane?”

  “No,” I whispered.

  “Felt every muscle turn to jelly, your chest explode with such pressure that you thought you were going to die—you hoped you were going to die—writhing in pain, just with one look from somebody’s hollow eyes?”

  “No.”

  “I have.” He was almost panting now. “I have, and I can tell you right now that you wouldn’t survive it. Just in case you’re wondering, the answer is no. No you won’t be going near the church, no you won’t be helping me, no you won’t risk your life to save mine.”