Paul Kohler - The Borrowed Souls, A Novel

I stood in front of the bank of elevators, alone. Straight ahead was a vacant reception station. To my left and to my right, long corridors led to various unknown rooms. I stepped up to the reception desk and waited. After what felt like an eternity, I realized that either the station was unattended at this hour or the receptionist was running errands somewhere else in the hospital. I decided to explore the floor on my own, figuring that I had been brought here for a reason—meaning Cyndi was probably near.

Turning around, I noticed a sign on the wall. Arrows indicated that rooms 701 through 718 were to the left, and ICU/CCU was to the right.

“ICU it is,” I said aloud and headed down the corridor.

As I moved through the vacant hallway, I came upon a pair of glass doors leading into the intensive care unit. Gripping the handle on the left, I pulled, but the door did not budge. I tried the handle on the right but was met with the same result. I leaned close to the glass door and peered in as far as my eyes could see. The corridor veered to the right, disappearing out of sight. I looked around for some sort of communication device and found a small buzzer button. I pressed it and waited. Moments later, the door buzzed back and I heard an audible click at the door handle. I pushed through and walked down the hall.

The first room I came to was empty. Across the hall was another room—also empty. But another pair of doors further down the hallway looked promising. Each of the doors had medical clipboards hanging on hooks right outside. As I approached, I could read the names on the top sheets of the clipboards. Dewayne Mitchell and Leonard Stewart. I continued to walk down the hall, reading names off of charts. As I turned the corner, I saw what appeared to be a central nurse’s station at the hub of several additional rooms. There was one attendant present, and he had his back toward me. I continued to move along the right-hand side, reading names on the charts as I went. Finally, as I was about to walk into the attendant’s view, I saw Cyndi’s name. I stepped into her room and pulled the curtain closed.

I took a deep breath, then turned to look at my wife. She lay unconscious, with multiple tubes and wires attached to various parts of her body. As I moved to her bedside, I noticed her face was bruised and battered. Almost as if she’d been beaten to a pulp. Both of her legs and one of her arms were wrapped in some kind of soft cast that prevented movement. Her left arm was also bruised. The rhythmic beep-beep from the machine next to her bed was all that could be heard.

Not knowing the proper procedure, I pulled the wooden box from my pocket and placed it on her chest. I opened the box and stepped back. Nothing happened. I leaned in and gently touched the side of her cheek.

“Oh, baby, what happened to you?” I asked.

She remained silent.

Fighting back tears, I attempted to open her mouth, thinking that her soul likely needed a clear pathway to vacate her body. As I pulled apart her lips, I noticed that her jaw had been wired shut. Blood and mucus coated her teeth, and the sight of it made me cringe.

Frustrated, I grabbed the box and snapped it shut before shoving it into my pocket. As I did so, my hand brushed against the coin that Wilson had used to bring back my memories.

I slipped the coin from my pocket as I lowered myself into the chair next to her bed. I rubbed the coin thoughtfully, contemplating my options. In order for the soul to release from its host, did I need to relive something from the host’s past?

“What do you think, Cyn? Care to take a trip down memory lane?” I asked.

She didn’t answer, of course. I figured it was probably best that way. I’m not sure I wanted to hear her pleas of protest, not wanting me to experience something that would not shine a flattering light on her.

“Here goes nothing,” I said as I turned the coin over inside my hand, just like I had done numerous times with Wilson by my side. Nothing happened.

“Dammit,” I exclaimed. I sprang from the chair and paced about the room, wondering what it was that I needed to do. I walked back and forth at the foot of her bed, thinking as I fumbled with the coin.

It struck me that it was Cyndi that needed to turn the coin in order to activate her memories. I moved back to her side and placed the coin in her hand. Without touching it myself, I used her fingers to flip the coin over in the palm of her hand. Darkness enveloped me as I vanished from the hospital room.

Cyndi Duffy was engrossed in a dream when the first flashes of light fell upon her closed eyes. She squeezed them tight, determined to thwart the advance of day. With the dream so close to becoming fully lucid, she didn’t want to move an inch for fear of losing the warmth of Kevin’s touch.

The early morning dream had been the third in as many days, and even though they were really just fantasy delusions, she still felt guilty for having them. She knew that she should at least be dreaming about Jack instead of Kevin. But it had been years since Jack had given her butterflies like Kevin gave her now, imaginary or otherwise.

Eager to stay in the moment, she welcomed Kevin’s gentle touch as he began to caress her body. She moaned softly as his hands worked their way over her breast and down across her abdomen. She lost track of Kevin’s hands though when he leaned in and kissed her. The moment his lips touched hers, passion tugged at all of her senses. She longed for his body to melt deep inside of hers, when she heard him say something. Confused, she wondered how he could be talking when his lips were firmly planted on her own. She tried to ask “What?” but all that came out was “Hrmm?”

The voice, louder now and obviously not coming from Kevin, said, “I love you, baby.” Cyndi’s mind snapped out of her mildly erotic dream and into the early morning reality of her own life. She recognized Jack’s voice at once and began to stir. Without opening her eyes, for fear that he would sense her betrayal, she murmured, “Me too. You better get up or you’ll be late again.”

Hoping that the dream would only pause long enough for her husband to get started on his day, Cyndi lay silently without moving.

Jack broke her comfortable silence “I know. I was just lying here thinking about…”

It quickly became obvious to Cyndi that Jack wasn’t ready to get out of bed just yet. She figured that she might as well soothe his soul for a few minutes before he got ready for work. It was the least she could do, considering what she was just about to do. Albeit in a delusional fantasy.

“About what?” she asked, sliding her head over to rest on his chest. She lay motionless as he formed his response.

Lying on his back, Jack began to stroke Cyndi’s hair as if he were petting a cat. “My project. Life. You. Take your pick.”

As Jack spoke, Cyndi knew that there was more to his response than met the eye. It had been several months since his depression had surfaced, and she’d thought that he had finally gotten control of it. Not wanting to let him focus on the troubles at work anymore than he already was, she tried to steer their conversation in a lighter direction. “I’m happy I’m in there somewhere.”

Surrendering to the morning light, she opened her eyes slightly and stared up at the ceiling. She didn’t focus on anything in particular, but just laid in place while her eyes adjusted to the morning brightness.

“What are your plans for today? Want to have lunch?” Jack asked.

Accepting the fact that her dream was indeed lost, she looked at the alarm clock before answering. “I can’t today. I’m volunteering at the Redevelopment Foundation, remember?”