Paul Kohler - The Borrowed Souls, A Novel

When I arrived at the hospital, I didn’t land in Abigail’s room. I instead landed on the first floor, near the bank of elevators. Sure, I could have just as easily popped right into her room, or at least to her same floor, but coming into the hospital as I did was a calculated effort. I needed to ease myself back in.

It wasn’t until I was standing in front of the elevator doors that I realized that taking the lift would not be an option. Not with the slew of people milling about the hospital. I walked around the corner and found the stairway access, and thankfully no one was around.

As the clang of the door echoed through the stairway, I began my assent to the seventh floor. With each step, my mind continued to dwell on what had prevented me from coming back to the hospital. The memory of Cyndi. It had been almost two weeks ago that I had last seen my wife alive. Now here I was, back in the same building, heading up to the same floor where she’d died.

The inevitable nature of my new job would most certainly bring me back to this hospital many times, and that inevitability was not lost on me. But knowing that still didn’t make it easier.

I continued to trudge up the steps, holding my head down, watching my feet rhythmically climb, step by step, trying to think of anything but Cyndi. As I rounded the corner at the fifth floor landing, I ran into another person.

“Hey now, watch where you’re going,” Hauser said.

I nearly jumped out of my skin.

“Jesus, Hauser. What the hell are you doing here?” I asked, my pulse racing.

“Waiting for you, naturally. I, too, often take the stairs. Keeps the energy level up,” he said, falling into stride next to me. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

I nodded, and we climbed the remaining two flights of stairs in awkward silence. It seemed like with every additional interaction with Hauser, I was more puzzled. I wondered, was I the one that was strange, or was he?

As we reached the seventh floor, Hauser inched the door open and peeked through the crack. A moment later, he fully opened the door and stepped through.

“All clear, buddy,” he said.

I followed him through and into the empty corridor. He moved at such a quick pace, it took effort for me to keep up with him.

“Hey, what’s the rush?” I asked. “Do you know something that I don’t?”

“No sir. I’m just a firm believer in a diligent work habit,” he said as he rounded the corner and headed for the ICU ward. As he stepped up to the secured doors, he reached over and pressed the call button multiple times to the tune of Shave and a Haircut . When he finished, he glanced over at me and winked.

“Enjoying yourself?” I asked.

“If you’ve been doing this job as long as I have, kid, you’d try to make every moment enjoyable too. Otherwise, you might just go crazy.”

Within seconds, a buzzer sounded, and Hauser pulled the door open and stepped through. As we walked through the outskirts of the ICU, my eyes darted to the room where Cyndi had been. Common sense told me she was long since gone, but instinct prevailed.

“Are you telling me that you’ve not been back up here since?” Hauser asked.

“Yeah, about that… I’ve been meaning to…”

“You know, Jack, I’m sure you could pop over to the morgue and see your wife once more, but you’d only be visiting a shell of her former self.”

Until Hauser uttered those words, the thought had never crossed my mind. To actually go see her? As I thought about the possibility, I quickly realized that seeing her battered and broken body again would be too much.

“You’re not actually thinking about it, are you?” asked Hauser.

“Um, no. Honestly, I never thought that they would keep her body this long.”

“Your situation is unique, Jack. Because you’re not around to claim her body, and she had no family, right? She’ll probably remain in the morgue’s freezer until the investigation is complete. After that, I’m sure—”

“Okay, stop. I really don’t need to know what happens to the unclaimed bodies.”

“But you could probably see Wilson while you’re there…”

Ignoring his banter, I stepped around Hauser and walked right up to Abigail’s room. I took a breath and stepped inside.

Walking into the room instantly brought memories of Cyndi to the forefront, but I promptly blocked them. I moved to Abigail’s bedside and looked down at her unconscious body. Her conditions so closely mimicked Cyndi’s when I’d first found her: multiple tubes penetrating her arms and neck, along with a tube that was through her open mouth. Pity enveloped me, and I began to wonder what I’d gotten myself into when I agreed to take over as a soul collector. I could only hope that the job would get easier with each new dying person I encountered.

“So… do I remove the air tube?” I asked, trying to make sense of the situation.

Hauser stepped beside me. “The medical term is that she has been intubated. It’s a little tricky, but her soul can be retrieved without removing the tube.”

“Then, what? Do I whistle for her soul? Like I’m calling a Labrador retriever?” I asked, my words dripping with sarcasm.

Hauser ignored my derision and said, “No, I don’t think that’ll be necessary today. Besides, there’s really more to it than just sucking her soul out. The soul needs to be cleansed properly before it is sent on to its next borrower.”

“Cleansed? Wilson didn’t tell me anything about cleansing anything. What about his soul, or the soul I took from Cyndi? I didn’t—”

“I took care of both of those collections, after the requisition had been put in for their new placements.”

Listening to Hauser speak with such lack of emotion nearly made my head spin. “All right. Where do I begin?” I asked, trying to sound eager even though I had no idea what it all meant.

“It’s hard to explain, really. As you recall with Wilson and Cyndi, their soul vacated the vessel—their bodies—in the form of a stream of smoke. As soon as it enters the transportation chamber—the wood box—the cleanse can begin.”

“That doesn’t sound too difficult. What’s involved with the actual cleansing?” I pressed.

“That’s where it gets a little tricky. The soul can become a little agitated once placed in the box—”

“Agitated?”

“Maybe ‘agitated’ isn’t the right word here. Maybe ‘unbalanced’ is a better term, and not all souls react the same way. Some souls are much gentler and handle the process better than others.”

“Really. What about the old saying ‘walk into the light’? Wouldn’t that be easier here?”

“Ha. You can thank Hollywood for that one, although the old process was quite similar.”

Feeling more confused and overwhelmed by the minute, I pressed. “And?”

“Back in the day, there was no wood box to carry the soul from borrower to borrower. When a borrower passed on, the soul would slip from one dead body to the life of another, without incident. The job of the soul collector was nonexistent. That all changed a few hundred years ago.”

“How so?” I asked, becoming more intrigued, to the point that I almost forgot about the task at hand. Hauser, on the other hand, had not. He nodded his head in Abigail’s direction.

I followed his gaze and saw Abigail’s eyes staring back at me. I instinctively smiled and rapidly tried to think of something to say. Before anything came to mind, Hauser spoke.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Whitaker. Did we wake you?”

Abigail nodded her head slightly, although it was barely perceptible.

“I do apologize. My colleague and I were just making rounds, and we thought we’d stop in to see how you were feeling. Are you in any pain?” Hauser asked.