Paul Kohler - The Borrowed Souls, A Novel

Somehow I knew he would bring up the gang fight. “Yeah, I remember.”

“You see, not all bad people continue to live. There’s a balance, and neither of us have total control over that. Besides, would you want the responsibility of judging who lives and who dies? Forever? For every soul you come into contact with? What if you made the wrong choice? Suppose you let a person live today, and somehow he changes two years, five years down the road? What if suddenly he snaps and becomes a serial killer? Would you blame yourself for letting this person live? Would you be willing to shoulder the burden of all the people that he’d kill?”

“Hey, slow down. I’m not saying I want total control. I’m just… venting, I guess.”

“All right. I’ll back off,” Hauser said. “I just wanted you to see the alternative, is all.”

“Thanks.”

“So was this rosary experience any different than the one you had yesterday?”

I thought for a moment, trying to figure out where Hauser was going with this question. “I’m… not sure. Obviously it was in a different location.”

“Not what I meant. What about the quality of your surroundings? Were they clear or were they still blurry? Like yesterday.”

“Hmm. I guess a little of both. I remember the park was crystal clear, as was the bus. Noah and Katie were obviously clear, but the surrounding crowd was a little foggy,” I said as I continued to replay the incident in my mind. “And I guess the geese were clear and blurry at the same time. Does that make sense?”

Hauser nodded. “Yeah. It was probably something to do with how they flew off into the air. Like I said, I’m not sure how it all works.”

“The terrified look on Katie’s face was the clearest of all,” I said.

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up too much,” Hauser said as he stood and faced me. “Just remember, no one is dead yet.” Then he winked and vanished.

What the hell is that supposed to mean? I wondered. As I sat on the park bench, alone, I pondered Noah’s impending death and its relation to the conversation I’d just had with Hauser. Here I was, a mere six weeks since my own suicide attempt, and I felt more confused and overwhelmed than ever. I’d gone from worrying about my own depression to contemplating playing God. What happened?

Just remember, no one is dead yet. There had to be a reason why Hauser had said that, and what was up with the wink afterward? Did he really just imply that he wanted me to actually attempt to intervene? To actually take on a God role in this particular soul collection? Was it even possible? Or was I reading too much into it?

I sat back and thought. If I could change the outcome, how would I go about it? I couldn’t speak to Noah, to tell him that he needed to stay away from the park. I could only talk to Hauser and… and the animals. “Hey Bailey, do me a favor, would ya’? Bite your master so he can’t walk in the park with Katie.” Yeah, no. I didn’t think that’d work.

What else? There was something else about the questions from Hauser that lingered in my mind. He’d asked about the scenery. The surroundings and whether they were clear or not. Why would any of that matter? That’s when an idea began to form. I remembered another conversation with Hauser, when he’d said that the reason things were blurry or unclear was because those elements of the future were still uncertain. I tried to recall Noah’s death again, but the imagery was already fading, drifting from my memory. I struggled at remembering what was real and what my mind was trying to convince me was real. No, I needed to see it all again. Regretfully, I needed to see Noah die all over.

I sprang from the park bench and vanished.

Landing in the middle of the Claytons’ apartment, I found the setting very much as I had left it not more than an hour earlier. I moved around the residence until I found Noah, slumped in an easy chair, reading a magazine. Wasting no time, I knelt down next to him and grasped the rosary. I touched his arm and within seconds was whisked away, back into Noah’s future.

When my vision cleared, I stood on the sidewalk next to the park. In front of me, Noah’s body lay awkwardly in the street. There were hordes of people surrounding the accident, but nobody moved. It was like the scene was frozen in time. It became clear to me that this must be the exact moment that Noah would die.

“Rewind. Rewind. Rewind,” I said, wanting to go back far enough to get a feel of the entire incident once again. “Pause.”

Noah and Katie stood in line at an ice cream vendor. The large open field with the gaggle of geese was just to my left. To my right was where Noah’s crumpled body would lay shortly. With the environment frozen in time, I was able to move around and see everything from multiple perspectives. I walked toward Noah’s position, studying everything as I went. As I weaved through the motionless pedestrians, I focused on the clarity of everything around me. Not surprisingly, things were somewhat clearer than they had been in my first review of Noah’s future. I surmised that it was because I was now closer to his death.

When I approached the ice cream cart, the vendor was holding an ice cream cone out to Katie, who had a cheerful smile on her face. I moved around all sides of the scene, looking for something, anything, that I could do to alter Noah’s path. With all the people around me, I saw no way for me to do so.

“Fast-forward. Pause.”

When the scene paused again, Noah and Katie were standing at the edge of the clearing, staring off into the distance. I walked up to where they stood and looked in the direction of their gaze. The man and his dog were still, lifeless, in the large grassy area. The man had just released the ball in the air and the dog had started his sprint in the direction of the throw. At that precise moment, I knew exactly what I needed to do. I ran toward the dog, my excitement building with each step. When I got to where the dog floated inches above the ground, I looked back toward Noah and Katie. Then I looked to where Katie would eventually release her balloon. I estimated that the distance would take them three to five minutes to walk. I knew that it was an exceedingly tight window in which to try to distract the dog long enough for them to pass that part of the park, but I had to make an effort.

“Play.”

The dog in front of me continued charging forward and caught the ball. Without breaking stride, he returned to his master and dropped the tennis ball. Total round trip for the fetch was about sixty seconds. The dog’s master picked up the ball again and tossed it through the air. The retriever missed catching the ball in midair but still continued the chase. The ball bounced high into the air and directly toward the birds. Thirty seconds. As the dog blasted through the outer edge of the flock, birds began to scatter into the air. Fifteen seconds. As the dog reached the tennis ball at the center of the flock, most of the birds were now flying away. Ten seconds. As the dog turned and ran toward his owner, I saw something.

“Pause.”

I ran forward to where the flock had been just moments before. The golden retriever was in full stride back toward his owner, and when I got to his location, I noticed how blurry he and the ball were. I smiled, recalling once again what Hauser had said about the reasoning behind the blur. Sometimes things don’t always occur as planned. That was it. I’d found it. I just had to distract the dog long enough.

“Play.”

The scene continued as the blurry dog ran back toward his master. I turned to watch the birds fly toward Noah and Katie and noticed they continued to fluctuate between obscured blurs and crystal clear. I dismissed the vision as the red balloon began to flow through the air. As Noah took two steps into the street, I released the rosary from my grip.