Paul Kohler - The Borrowed Souls, A Novel

“Son of a bitch,” I said. My mind raced at how else I could destroy the box. I rushed to the closet and rummaged through an old wooden toolbox until I found what I was looking for. I retrieved a five-pound sledgehammer from the very bottom of the box and grinned as I hoisted it from its resting place. Returning to the kitchen, I placed the soul box on the butcher-block counter and raised the sledge above my head. With all my might, I brought the head of the hammer down as hard as I could, driving it into the top of the soul box. The painful sensation that shot up through my arm and into my shoulder caused me to cry out.

“AHHH!”

As I regained my composure, I picked up the dropped hammer and laid it on the countertop next to the box. The undamaged box.

“Well, this might be more difficult than it seems,” I said. At that moment, my next brilliant idea hit me like a ton of bricks. I returned to the closet and retrieved a spool of bailing wire. I rushed back to the counter and slowly, methodically, wrapped wire around the box and the handle of the sledge. Once that was complete, I gleefully grabbed the handle of the hammer and walked out the door.

Once outside, I headed around the cabin and ducked into the forest. A well-worn trail led from the clearing around the cabin, and if my memory served me well, would open up at Lake Sweeny, a small nature pond that was a long-lost secret in these parts.

The hike was just what I needed. I remembered the stroll through the forest taking ten or fifteen minutes in the past. But as the trail faded in and out from lack of use, I was led astray a number of times. Twenty minutes later, I finally found my destination.

The spring-fed lake was calm and still at this early morning hour. The occasional ripples caused by jumping fish in the distance were the only things that broke the mirrorlike finish of the surface. I contemplated dragging the old canoe from the shed but wasn’t sure about its ability to float after so many years. I decided that I would rather test my arm strength than my sink rate.

I walked out onto the dock until I reached the edge. I stopped and looked around at the beautiful scenery. On all sides of the lake, dark green pine trees sprang from the edge, creating the perfect secluded fishing hole.

“Here goes nothing,” I said. I began to swing the hammer like a pendulum, forward and backward then forward again. After a few practice swings, I released the hammer with the soul box tightly attached to it. It flew through the air gracefully.

Kerplunk! The water splashed several feet into the air, and then calm once again returned to the lake surface.

I turned and smiled. In fact, I smiled all the way back to the cabin.

Fifteen minutes later, I stepped out from the canopy cover of the surrounding forest. I paused momentarily as I noticed the old wood shed off to the side. Even though I didn’t need to eat or drink, I had the sudden urge to fry up a beautiful lake trout for lunch. Stopping at the shed, I rummaged through the dozen or so fishing poles in the corner until I found my old favorite spinner reel. I grabbed the old tackle box and headed for the cabin to sort out the condition of the fishing gear inside.

As I stepped into the cabin, my eyes locked like a magnet onto the soul box sitting on the countertop.

“What the—” I blurted.

“You don’t think you can shrug your responsibilities that easy, do you?” Hauser asked.

“How’d you find me?” I asked, trying to hide my surprise.

Hauser smiled, then pulled out a pair of vintage wire-rimmed glasses and slid them on his face. “What do you think? Does it make me look… distinguished?” he asked.

I shrugged and avoided looking at him directly. I moved to the countertop and began untying Calvin’s soul box from the sledgehammer.

“What? No comment about my new spectacles?”

“Okay, yes. You look very distinguished with your new glasses, Hauser,” I said in a monotone voice. “I suppose you’ve had those this whole time.”

“Nope. I actually have you to thank for these. If it wasn’t for your little tantrum yesterday, I’m not sure when the Sentinel would’ve actually handed them out.”

“Wait, what? You just got them?”

“Yep,” Hauser said as he folded them and put them back in his pocket. “The latest and greatest from the masterful wizards that create useful things. They allow me, or whoever is wearing them, to see any active soul collector in the world. Pretty slick, huh?”

“Yeah, slick. So how does it work? You go up there, or wherever it is that you go to meet them, and tell them you have a problem, and they drop everything they’re doing to create this new gizmo for you to, what? Become the bounty hunter of the afterworld?”

“No, not quite. I had this latest piece of hardware within an hour of you ditching me yesterday. I guess they’d had them ready for some time and were waiting for the right opportunity to release them into the collector circulation.”

“I’m confused. Why’d it take you nearly a full day to come find me? If you’ve had a way to see where I was this whole time, why wait until today?”

“Well, buddy, after you lost me in the tubes of London—which I have to give you kudos for being very creative—I had a moment of clarity. I thought back to when I first became a collector, and how I struggled with the conflicting emotions battling inside me. I figured with the extraordinary training that you’ve already been through, you were bound to snap.”

“Listen, I didn’t snap,” I argued. “I’m just not… willing to blindly collect random souls, when you and I both know that there is a better way.”

Hauser nodded in agreement. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right, Jack. That’s why I gave you some space. I needed you to find clarity on your own before I came to drag you back, kicking and screaming, if that’s what it takes,” Hauser winked.

“Why are you being so nice?” I asked. “You said it yourself that I’ve been a major pain in your ass through my entire training. And in your eyes, I threw this major tantrum, which we’ll just have to agree to disagree about—”

“No, you threw a tantrum. There’s no question,” Hauser said with a smirk.

“Yeah, whatever. We all can’t be as perfect as you at being an emotionless human, now can we?”

Hauser’s winced slightly, then looked at his watch before stowing it back into his pocket. “Why don’t you have a seat, champ. I see a lot of promise in you, and if sharing some of my past strengthens your ability, then I’m willing if you are.”

Surprised at Hauser’s sudden openness to share, I nodded and eased myself down into the lumpy couch.

Hauser pulled up a wooden chair from the kitchen table and sat down across from me. He crossed one leg over the other and briefly fidgeted with his hands in his lap, clearly showing signs of trepidation. He stared off into space, as if looking for an invisible solution to his problem.

“You’re only partly correct, Jack. I have far more emotion than I seem to let on. That’s partly a carryover from my previous life.” Hauser paused, folding his arms in front of his chest, then he looked directly at me.

“What I’m about to tell you is something that I am not at all proud of.”

“If it’s any consolation, I’m the last person in this world to judge,” I said.

Hauser smiled. “Let’s talk after you hear what I’m about to tell you. Before I became a collector, I was… a very bad man. I worked, if you would like to call it that, as an assassin… for Napoleon.”

I inhaled sharply.

“See?” Hauser said. “It was shortly after the French Revolutionary Wars, and although a treaty was in place, the Napoleonic Wars were just getting started. I will not be in any history books. I was a… secret to Napoleon himself. At his charge I traveled through France, killing any and all British soldiers I came across, along with any French sympathizers for the British cause.”