Paul Kohler - The Borrowed Souls, A Novel

Hauser and I fell into stride with Wilson. We walked down the polished marble corridor. It didn’t take long for me to realize that we really weren’t in the same building. The compact floor plan of the building we’d entered moments before couldn’t have been more than three or four office-sized rooms wide and deep. But the corridor we walked down had to have been at least a full city block long in each direction.

After some twenty feet down the hallway, a room opened up on the left, encompassed by windows. I tried to take in a glimpse of the view, but Wilson and Hauser continued on in the opposite direction, turning away from the glass. As we entered the new corridor, it carried on dozens of yards as well.

“Is this place real?” I asked.

“Yes, and no,” Hauser said. “Everything that you can see and feel is as real as if it were in your own home. As for the location, I’m not sure if I’m qualified to answer that. It exists, but not in the sense of space that you and I are used to. It just is.”

“Well thanks for clearing that up for me,” I remarked, showing only a hint of the sarcasm that I truly wanted to convey.

A moment later we came to the end of the corridor, and a pair of hand-carved wooden doors. Wilson paused momentarily before gripping the polished-brass door handles and pushing in.

Wilson and I followed, walking into a large gathering room. The sudden change in décor made it feel like we’d just stepped into the past. The walls were lined with faux-wood paneling, and the floor was covered with green shaggy carpet. The low ceiling was textured with acoustical popcorn. Along the far wall a series of glass windows looked outside. At the center of the room, a number of Naugahyde-covered chairs were arranged in a full circle. Most of them were already occupied.

Stepping forward, Wilson sat in the last armed chair in the circle, while Hauser led us to the remaining two armless chairs. As I sat, I glanced around at the members of the council and was dumbfounded. I recognized Martin Luther King, Steve Jobs, and, if I remembered my history lessons correctly, I thought I saw Winston Churchill in the group. A woman sitting directly across from Hauser and I had an appealing appearance, albeit masculine. Her mysterious yet highly publicized disappearance in the late thirties made her practically immortal, if in name only. It was Amelia Earhart.

To her right sat an elderly gentleman with a beard down nearly to his lap. He had bushy grey eyebrows and if he’d been wearing a white tunic, I’d imagine this would be the Gandalf character that Hauser had mentioned back when he was explaining the origination of the mystical gadgets that he possessed. Just as those thoughts coursed through my mind, the older man looked up at me, winked one of his silvery-grey eyes, and smirked.

Oh shit , I thought. Control. Control. Control.

I quickly shifted my focus to the other members of the council and was continually surprised at the recognizable faces. I continued to look around the room until I arrived back at Earhart staring right at me. A moment later, I released the coin.

“Did I really just see Amelia Earhart?” I asked.

Wilson chuckled. “Yeah, Amelia was a direct recruit. She came onto the council reluctantly.”

“You mean the Sentinel targeted her directly? How is it that the council is made up?”

“The high council is mostly formed by past soul collectors. Hence, my appointment. There are, however, a number of non-soul collector folk in place. In addition to Earhart, I gather that you noticed other familiar faces, correct?”

I nodded. “Yeah, I did, but I couldn’t put names to a few of the people.”

“Yes, the high council of the Sentinel is diverse to a fault. It consists of twelve men and women from virtually all times and locations from earth’s history. Each council member is given the opportunity to serve as long as they wish, but as far as I’m aware, most of the past members have limited their stay. As a matter of fact, Florence Nightingale was the member that I recently replaced.”

“Are you serious? Did you get to meet her before she… what? Moved on to the other side?”

“I did meet her briefly, but we only exchanged short pleasantries.”

“Wow. What was she like?” I asked, completely enamored.

“She was actually a very attractive woman. But she seemed… I don’t know, worn down, maybe?”

“Wilson, you sly dog. She had to have been, what, a hundred and something? I don’t even know.”

“You see, when you become a member of the Sentinel, you get to choose the physical representation to carry on in the afterlife. She chose herself when she was in her mid- to late-thirties. And I have to say, it was a fine choice,” Wilson said with a wink.

“So if she was in her thirties when she joined the Sentinel, did she continue to age?”

“No, it’s quite a bit different from being a soul collector. Once you join the Sentinel, you cease to age, and rarely do environmental changes affect you.”

Trying to wrap my mind around this new information made my head spin. I was having trouble thinking straight. As much as I’d wanted to get back all of my lost memories, I was feeling severely inadequate. Here I was, the most recent recruit to the soul collecting ranks of the afterlife, being thrust into the presence of some truly great people. Despite their historically benevolent natures, I was unsure just how compassionate they’d be if they fully realized my most recent past. Just being in the presence of all those that ruled in the afterlife made me terribly edgy.

“It’s all right to be nervous, Jack. Regardless of their current status, those people were just as normal as you and I were at one point in time.”

I shrugged. “I suppose, but you’re not as normal as I am, and I’m not as normal as I once was.”

“It’s all relative, Jack. They’re good people, now and before. Besides, your hesitation now is unwarranted. You’ve already been through all of this. You’re now just reliving what has already occurred.”

As Wilson explained this, I rubbed the back of my neck until there was an audible crack. I tilted my head back to the right and it popped again. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Then are you ready to continue?” Wilson asked.

“Yeah, I suppose,” I said reluctantly. I picked up the coin and flipped it over in my hand.

As Earhart continued to stare at me, I felt as if she was staring into my soul. I shifted my eyes to the Gandalf character, who I decided to coin Mr. Wizard. He was staring off into the distance and appeared deep in thought. As I continued to look around the circle of council members, each of the faces looked wise beyond their years. Each one held a certain level of confidence that was comforting, yet at the same time moderately intimidating.

“Thank you, all, for agreeing to grant us audience,” Hauser began. “We realize that your time is valuable, and we’re honored—”

“Let’s forgo all the formalities, Mr. Hauser,” said Earhart. “Tell us what you know.”

Mr. Hauser? Is that his last name? If that’s true, then what’s his first name? I wondered. I made a mental note to ask him about it later.

Hauser cleared his throat. “It appears that Enoch Gant has taken an interest in my latest protégé, Jack Duffy. He’s been visiting Mr. Duffy’s dreams on and off over the past few months. Then, in an unprecedented event, he arrived at the scene of Mr. Duffy’s latest collection assignment and siezed the souls before Jack had an opportunity to do so. From what Jack tells me, Enoch possesses a soul magnet.”

There were gasps from a number of the council members, while others in the gathering remained completely emotionless.