Paul Kohler - The Borrowed Souls, A Novel

After nearly twenty minutes of cycling through my entire wardrobe, I picked out a simple black suite with a white shirt. And although wearing ties made me feel staunch and uptight, I donned a thin black tie today, in honor of the multitude of ties that Cyndi had given me over the years. A smile crossed my face as I remembered her gifting me a tie for every year that we’d been together. The smile quickly vanished though as I wondered if all those years were filled with lies.

Once I was redressed, I reentered the bedroom. The crime scene examiner was finished processing the bed and had moved on to the dresser. As I walked past him, I said, “You’re gonna to have a blast once you get to the bath and the closet.” I smiled at my own sarcasm as I walked out into the living room.

Looking around, most likely for the last time, I began to wonder where I would sleep. Would I have a place to live? If I was to live life at an eighth the pace as everyone else, I’d certainly be around for quite some time. Would I even need to sleep? Would I eat?

I shook the many questions from my head and focused on the importance of the now. I needed to finish figuring out how the transportation thing worked. From what I’d gathered, all I had to do was think of a place and envision myself there. To try this out, I thought about one of my favorite vacation spots in the world—Hampton Court in England. I then envisioned myself standing in the middle of the king’s throne room. Within seconds, I was whisked off to the sixteenth-century palace. After walking around for a few moments—unseen by anyone, naturally—I thought about Wilson’s bench and envisioned myself there. Once again I appeared at the lonesome park bench within seconds.

“I think I’ve got this,” I said, but Wilson was no longer on the bench. The area had been cleared and the body most likely was off to the city morgue. Oddly, even though I barely knew the guy, I had a sudden feeling of sadness for the old man. Here he was, a soul collector for what, nearly sixty years? And now he was gone, not missed or mourned by anyone. I wondered who would miss me once I was discovered gone.

Not wanting to go down that depression-riddled rabbit hole, I decided I needed to face the challenges in front of me. I thought about Cyndi’s bedside chair and then I was there.

Standing next to the bed, looking down at her beaten and bruised flesh, remorse flushed over me once again. I sat in the chair and wove her lifeless hand into my own.

“Where did we go wrong?” I asked. “Was it something I did or didn’t do?”

I caressed her hand, trying to will her to answer my questions. It felt like a wasted effort. I slipped her box from my pocket once again, hoping that I had endured enough of Cyndi’s final day to earn her soul.

I placed the box upon her chest and opened it. Nothing happened. I slid my finger between her lips in a halfhearted attempt to free her soul, but it was no use. Resigned to the fact that I had to finish reliving her day, I swapped the box for the coin from my pocket and placed it in her open palm.

Walking down the busy sidewalk, Cyndi headed toward the foundation. From the moment she had woken up and heard Jack’s thoughtful words, her mind had gradually escaped the dreamlike state that clearly distorted her feelings for Kevin, and masked those that she had for Jack. Deep down, she knew that their fling had run its course, and it wasn’t good for her mental state to continue on with it. No, she had to end it. She knew that if she didn’t do it now, she might begin to develop stronger feelings for him, while pushing Jack further away. Deep down, she loved Jack, always had. But there was just something missing when it came to her feelings for Jack that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Was that a reason to leave him? After so many happy years? She didn’t know. She was confused.

Walking the fifteen blocks gave her time to reflect on their marriage, as well as what life would be like if she chose Kevin instead. Looking back to when she and Jack first began dating, she remembered having the same irresistible feelings for Jack as she had for Kevin right now. From the very beginning, Jack was her life, her world. Then, things changed.

Sometime after learning of their infertility, they started to drift apart. She had accepted that it was nobody’s fault, but her desire to have children had remained strong. Adoption was brought up numerous times, but nothing ever came of it. It was all just talk. She knew, or she felt she knew, that Jack was scared. Scared of the adoption process and what it might mean to his bottom line. Meaning the exorbitant expense of raising a child who inherently wasn’t their own was emotionally problematic.

Cyndi pushed the thoughts from her mind as she passed through the double entry doors into the Redevelopment Foundation’s headquarters. As she passed the various donation tables set up, her eyes scanned the room for familiar faces, one face in particular. When she found no sign of Kevin, she dropped her purse and sweater off in the locker room before returning to the donation center.

“Oh, good morning, Cyndi,” Stan, the center’s administrator said. “It’s very good of you to come in today.”

“It’s my pleasure, Stan. Where would you like me today?”

“Why don’t you help Beth out at the children’s table. Wednesdays are usually busy with infant clothing donations, and Beth is the only one at that station,” he said.

“Sounds good,” Cyndi said. Before she headed to her assignment though, she asked, “But doesn’t Kevin usually help Beth?”

“Yes, but he’s running an errand for me right now. As soon as he returns, I’ll decide whether to put him in a different station or move you somewhere else.”

Cyndi wasn’t sure if she should be elated or disappointed that Kevin wasn’t there. She had rehearsed in her mind how she would approach him about ending their relationship. Was this really a relationship, she wondered.

After thirty minutes of accepting various children’s items, Cyndi couldn’t wait for Kevin to return, if only to relieve her from this particular station. With each piece of infant clothing that passed through her hands, she was constantly reminded that she might never hold her own child. And with each creak of the entry door, Cyndi’s eyes darted up to see if Kevin was coming in to release her from her misery. As the absolution never came, she tried to focus on something else. With a lull in donation activity, Cyndi closed the lid of a filled box and told Beth that she would take it to the back. Beth nodded and continued to sort through the remaining garments on the table.

The box wasn’t particularly heavy, but with her injured shoulder, any abnormal weight caused discomfort. As she headed into the back room, moving slowly so as not to trip, she lifted the box above her head and slid it to the top of the processing pile.

As she dropped her arms back to her side, she could feel and hear her shoulder pop.

“Oww,” she moaned.

“You know, you should have asked for help with that,” a voice boomed from behind her.

Cyndi turned and smiled at Kevin’s presence. Gently massaging her shoulder, she said, “It’s okay, I can manage.”

“Still hurt?”

“Yeah. A little.”

“What did the doctor say?”

“He said not to lift boxes over my head,” Cyndi giggled.

Kevin smiled, but concern tightened his brow. “Seriously though, are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah, Jack is picking up a refill for my medication. I think another week of those pills should fix me up.”

“Speaking of Jack, has he—”

“No, he still thinks I fell at the park. He has no idea.”