Paul Kohler - The Borrowed Souls, A Novel

“But how is this possible? How is it that you’re alive? You are alive, right?”

“Ah, yes very much so.”

“But how? I took your soul. I… I visited your dead body on that park bench for many days after your… death.”

“Well, Jack, turns out that having been a successful soul collector for as many years as I was has its privileges,” Wilson said proudly. “You see, after my soul was delivered to the Sentinel, I was given the option to either be reincarnated into a new being or to reclaim my old body and take a seat on the high council, with the Sentinel.”

“Wow, and I thought that you would’ve taken reincarnation. Have the chance at a new body?”

“Trust me, Jack, the thought did cross my mind. But I’ve become quite accustomed to this old bag of bones, and the opportunity to be on the council was really something I’d never imagined possible for myself. But that’s enough about me. How about you? It appears that you’re in a bit of a pickle once again.”

I nodded in agreement. “Yeah, you could say that. I seem to have lost time… again. I think it has something to do with this bump on the back of my head.” I bowed my head down to give Wilson a look.

“Ouch, that certainly looks like it smarts. What is the last thing you remember?” he asked.

A sudden recollection flooded my mind. “Well, as irony has it, Hauser and I were about to come visit the Sentinel, I think. There was a… complication with my last collection, and Hauser thought it was imperative that we seek advice from the Sentinel. My last clear memory was grabbing a hold of Hauser’s arm and darkness came over me. Beyond that, I can’t remember a thing. I can see visions of scenes—almost as if a film projector is out of focus—but I just can’t make anything out. Does that make sense?”

“I understand. As a matter of fact, the event you speak of occurred almost three days ago. I imagine there’s a logical explanation for the memory loss.”

“Three days? Are you shitting me? How can I have lost three days?”

Wilson contemplated the situation for several moments. “I think you might be right, Jack—perhaps the bump on the back of your head is your problem. Thankfully, you and I have the ability to re-experience your past. You do still have the coin, don’t you? Are you a willing to take another trip down memory lane?”

I began to turn out my pockets, emptying everything that I had on my person. First out was the rosary, which I handed to Wilson. Next I pulled out two soul boxes. One had my name on it—the very box that Wilson gave me when I took his soul all those months ago. The other box had a name that I also recognized. The name of Calvin’s mother—Penelope Rose. Lastly, I pulled out the coin.

“That’s strange. The last two boxes I remember having were for Luke and Meghan. I don’t remember getting Penelope’s box,” I said.

“Is there anything else?” asked Wilson.

“Nope. That’s everything I have.” I handed him the coin and took back the rosary and the two soul boxes.

“All right, then. I suggest we find a place to sit and get started.”

Wilson turned and headed down the pavilion toward a grouping of vacant patio chairs beneath a large oak tree. As we neared the seating area, more flashes were coming back to me from my lost time. I had a sudden sense of recognition as I eased myself down into the chair.

“It’s strange, Wilson, but there’s something about this area—I don’t know, it just feels familiar.”

“That’s good, isn’t it? What is it that makes you feel that way?”

“I don’t know, I can’t quite put my finger on it, but… there’s something about the buildings, maybe, that is remarkable. Almost as if I’d been here before.”

Wilson smiled and sat in the chair across from me. “Well then, Jack, how about we see what happened with your past seventy-two hours.”

Taking the coin from Wilson and turning it over in my hand launched me into the past, just as it had done numerous times before. A sense of contentment overwhelmed me, and despite the peculiar situation I was in, I felt like things would be okay.

Darkness turned to light as the soles of my feet slammed to the ground, the momentum forcing me to my knees. Dizziness and nausea overwhelmed me and I uncontrollably hurled. Thankfully I hadn’t eaten or consumed any liquids in quite a few weeks, and I only dry heaved.

“And after all this time, I thought you would’ve mastered the ability to move around in the afterworld,” Hauser said, standing above me.

I wiped the spittle from my mouth and leaned back on my haunches. “Yeah, me too. I haven’t had a bout like that since, I don’t know, maybe the second or third jump?”

Hauser held his hand out and helped me up. “To be fair, transporting is quite a bit different when there’s multiple people involved. Until now you’ve only traveled by yourself.”

“But that’s not so,” I protested. “You and I have both traveled at the same time.”

“Yes, but we did so on our own volition. We always had the same destination in mind and just transported simultaneously. This time you had no idea where we were going, as I was in the driver’s seat. You were just along for the ride, so the effects of the jump are much more intense.”

“I’d say,” I said as I looked around at my surroundings. We stood on a relatively nondescript city sidewalk, surrounded by a few pedestrians. The cloudless sky above was the deepest blue I’d ever seen, and the air was thin and fresh. “So where is this place? Is this the Sentinel? Heaven or hell?”

Hauser chuckled. “None of the above, compadre. This is Denver, Colorado. Some people have said this is the closest to heaven that they’ve come, but I tend to disagree. Denver’s nice and all, but it’s a little too uppity for my taste.”

“Then I’m confused. I thought you said we were off to meet the Sentinel. Why take me to Denver first?”

“Because to get to the Sentinel, we have to go through Denver. You see, there’s only one way in and out of the Sentinel, and that’s through the Daniels and Fisher tower.” Hauser directed my view to the slender high-rise a block ahead of us.

The building was not very large—maybe thirty feet square—but shot up around twenty floors. Near the top, a large clock face was situated on each of the four building sides. The roof was steeply inclined to a cupola at the very peak. The entire building façade was constructed from blonde-colored brick. It very much reminded me of the St. Marks bell tower in Venice.

As we walked the final block toward the building, Hauser explained its history.

“This building, this clock tower, was the tallest building this side of the Mississippi in… 1910, I think, but only held on to that designation for a short period before the Smith Tower in Seattle claimed the moniker.”

“That’s great, Hauser, but what does that have to do with the Sentinel?”

“Patience, Jack. I’m getting there. You see, when this building was completed, the Sentinel needed a new headquarters. Things were really on the move back then, and at the time, the Sentinel had their base of operation in a location that was too close to the public eye. They chose Daniels and Fisher tower for two reasons: because of its modest style and because it was quite removed from the hustle and bustle of the rapidly growing coasts of the country.”

Hauser and I had stopped at the base of the building. I looked up at the façade in awe. “Who knew? Those that control the fate of every living soul in the world are located in a Renaissance-style building in Denver, Colorado,” I said.

“Well, that’s not exactly true. The Sentinel is not really inside the building. We can only access their location through here.”