The Borrowed Souls: A Novel

by Paul B. Kohler

  Her soul drifted freely through the air, sliding in and out of my own body before entering the box. As the last bit of smoke entered, the box closed before it vanished. In its place a new box materialized.

  I slid the box into my pocket before leaning in and kissing Cyndi. I kissed her forehead and then her nose. Then I kissed her lips for the last time.

  Tears rolled off my cheeks and dropped onto her face, streaking across her bruised skin.

  “I love you,” I said, and wished to be someplace else. A second later I vanished from her bedside.

  Chapter 10

  I appeared on the sidewalk in front of Engineers Gate, which led into the park. I looked around and wondered what had brought me to that exact point.

  I stood fixed on the sidewalk and pondered. Cyndi had been my soul mate, there was no question. I wondered how I would continue on without her to talk to every day. My heart ached deeply at the loss of her life. The loss of my wife – my partner – my life. It felt like a part of me was ripped from my being, leaving a gaping hole, void of purpose.

  Compartmentalizing those thoughts, I rotated slowly, taking in my surroundings in all directions. My eyes fixated on a grand Art Deco church that sat directly across the street. Without a second thought, I crossed over and entered through one of the double entry doors. According to a small sign on the wall, the doors led into a vestibule under the west gallery. Beyond, three arches led into the nave. I stepped through the arches and into the voluminous chamber. Aisles were situated between internal buttresses that rose with arches to near-full height. I somehow knew that I was in the right place.

  Slowly, I walked up the center aisle to the front of the nave. To my relief, the church was practically empty. I needed solitude right then. Or was it something else that I desired? Solitude—the act of being alone—was not quite the same as no one being able to see me. If I was in a crowd, I was not alone. Lonely, perhaps, but not truly alone. It’s a fine distinction.

  I pulled the rosary beads from my shirt pocket and held them in my hand as I kneeled in the first pew. I bowed my head and attempted to pray. My only problem: I had no idea how to pray.

  The last time I had been to church was with my grandmother when I was six or seven. Although my father was Catholic, my mother was something completely different. I honestly cannot remember what her religious preference was. All I could remember was her constant disagreement with my grandmother about how I should be raised. I think my mother kept me out of church just to spite my grandmother. Thinking back to their bitter feud that lasted until death, I think it worked.

  I closed my eyes and tried to think of the words to say. Nothing remotely religious come to mind. I shook my head.

  “Well, Wilson. I think I’ve done it. I’ve collected her soul,” I said as I opened my eyes and focused on the crucifix directly in front of me.

  “I have to say, this is all pretty eye-opening. I only wish I could have met you before I took all those pills. I wish I would’ve known what I was throwing away,” I said as I absentmindedly rubbed the beads between my fingers.

  “Wilson, I don’t know the right words to say, but I’d like to pray for you and your soul. I wish you a pleasant afterlife, if that’s what you call it.”

  Despite my best intentions, I could not stop thinking about Cyndi. Seeing her fall so horrifically made my own soul ache. She didn’t deserve to suffer such pain and agony.

  “And if it isn’t too much trouble, could you look out for my wife’s soul coming your way? Despite her indiscretions, I think—no, I know—she has a good soul and deserves only the best. Please, Wilson, do what you can to ease her pain.”

  Leaning forward off my haunches, I sat on the wooden bench and continued to stare at the crucifix. As I slipped Wilson’s rosary beads back into my pocket, I pulled out the new box that replaced Cyndi’s. With my mind in such a haze, I only fumbled with the box, not focusing on the name for the next soul.

  “So who’s the next victim?” came a voice from behind me.

  I nearly jumped out of my skin. I turned to see a man. The very man that had bumped into me earlier. “You. You can talk to me?”

  “That I can. And you can talk to me. It’s funny how conversation work,” he said as he moved into my row.

  “But, I tried to find you after you—”

  “I know. I wasn’t expecting you to bump into me. I was only supposed to observe your first official collection,” he said as he looked around the church.

  “So you know what I am?” I asked.

  “Of course. I’m one as well. Hell, I trained most of the collectors in the last century.”

  I scratched my temple. “But you don’t look that old.”

  “Thanks! I need to hear that every fifty years or so. I’m Hauser.”

  “Hauser? Wilson mentioned you.”

  “Did he? I hope it was all good things,” Hauser said, smiling.

  “He said that you were wise well beyond your years, or something to that effect.”

  “Well, I’m not sure about that,” Hauser said, blushing modestly.

  We sat in silence for a few moments. Hauser continued to look around the church while I was trying to calm my mind. I had a million questions but didn’t want to blurt them all out at once.

  “Did you find this place all on your own?” asked Hauser.

  “Well, I . . . sort of felt like it would do after what I just went through. I needed someplace to say a few words.”

  Hauser nodded as he turned to look at me. “I think it’s peculiar that you chose this church over all the other churches in the city.”

  I shrugged. “It’s not that out of the ordinary. I popped onto the sidewalk just across the street. I just happened to notice it sitting here is all. What makes that peculiar?”

  “The Church of Heavenly Rest has a history, you know.”

  “I’m sure it does. It’s just another church to me,” I said, trying not to sound too insensitive.

  “Oh, it’s not just an ordinary church. Cyndi never mentioned it to you?”

  An explosion of knowledge burst inside my head. “Right. The Redevelopment Foundation. That’s here?”

  Hauser nodded. “Yep. It’s out back.”

  “I had no idea. Cyndi would talk about this place a lot, but I’ve never been here.”

  “The aberrant nature of this location doesn’t stop there either,” Hauser smiled.

  “How so?”

  “You see, Cyndi was also baptized here. Many years before the two of you met. You sure she never mentioned this place?”

  I was flabbergasted. “No, not a word. We really didn’t discuss religion much. We agreed to believe in each other,” I said, thinking about that decision all those years ago. “Maybe that was a mistake.”

  “Ah, that’s water under the bridge now. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

  Silence came over us once again. I wished I could heed Hauser’s advice, but my mind continued to fumble through what I’d just learned. After several minutes of thought, I spoke.

  “So, you could only observe? How much were you around?” I asked, thinking back through the day, and my fumbling about with the transport jump thing.

  Hauser’s eyes shifted away from me and then back quickly. “I, uh ... was in and out a number of times, just staying in the shadows as best I could.”

  I nodded and tried to envision just where he could have been at in each of the situations where I thought I felt someone’s presence.

  “Were you there when Wilson passed?” I asked, remembering getting hit on the back while sitting on the bench.

  “Unfortunately, I just missed Wilson’s departure. I would have loved to see the ol’ chap once more before he gave up the ghost,” Hauser said. “No, I first showed up just shortly after.”

  “Uh huh. I thought so. That was you that smacked the air into my lungs.”

  Hauser smiled. “Yep. You caught me. Considering you immediate history with trying to end your life, I didn’t nee
d you giving it all a second try right after Wilson gave you his soul.”

  “What? I wasn’t trying to kill myself. I was just ... checking something,” I said, slightly embarrassed for my personal experimentation of life after death. “I wanted to see if I needed to breathe. You know ... After I died and all. If you hadn’t smacked me right then, you would have seen me take a breath just seconds later.”

  “Heh. Sorry ‘bout that, then. I just didn’t want you to get any idea’s is all.”

  “Trust me, Hauser. I wish I could go back and undo all that I did in that café. Suicide was not the solution, and now everything I knew or had is lost.”

  Hauser bobbed his head as he studied the crucifix in front of us.

  We sat in uncomfortable silence for several more minutes before I spoke again.

  “And you couldn’t have helped me out with the collection. Just observe?”

  “Oh, I could have helped. Would have, too, if you couldn’t pick things up on your own. I just wanted to see what you were made of.” Hauser whistled quietly. “Let me tell you, you move to the front of the class, bub. What lousy luck for you to have to go through what you just did. Your own wife? If there was a bar that served our kind, I’d buy you a drink.”

  “Thanks, I guess.”

  “Don’t mention it. So, who’s up next? Have you looked?”

  “What? Oh yeah.” I flipped the box around until the name was readable.

  “It’s Abigail Whitaker,” I said, looking at Hauser.

  He nodded his head knowingly but remained silent.

  “What? Are you not telling me something? Do you recognize the name?” I asked.

  “As a matter of fact, I do. I was actually hoping that would be the name that popped up for you next.”

  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 what
ever 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.