Paul Kohler - The Borrowed Souls, A Novel

“How’d you… never mind.”

“I know more than you could ever imagine, Mr. Duffy. I know things sometimes before they occur.”

“If that’s the case, how’d you miss me dying? Wouldn’t you have foreseen that as well?”

“Excellent point. With my advanced age, it appears that I might be losing my edge. You see, time passes slower for me than it does for the living. Much slower. For every one of my hours, eight of yours passes. That’s why I thought that I would have been able to collect another soul and still have time to get back to you. The other soul had fallen from a building at a construction site near here. Poor fellow. He left a loving wife and three children behind.”

“Oh,” is all I could think of to say in response. I thought this process would be different.

“Different in which way?” asked Wilson.

“Well, I guess I never thought someone like you would age at all. Granted, I never really thought about what happens after death in the first place. Earlier you said it was too late for second chances and something about other events set in motion. Any chance we could stop them?”

“Here’s how it works. Society has a specific number of souls in use, with new souls being generated as demand sees fit. Those new souls are developed at an established rate that was predetermined a millennia ago. Once a person dies, their soul is recycled into a new birth. You’ve heard the term ‘old-soul’? Well, that just means the soul has been through many lives. There are far more old souls than there are new souls in the world.”

“I find all this extremely interesting, Wilson, but how does me coming back to life affect any of this?”

“Every time a person dies, a new birth is in line to accept their soul. Your soul has been claimed, and the birth is imminent. As all the new souls have been claimed to date, your soul needs to be moved along within a reasonable time frame.”

“And my soul is the only one available? People die all the time. You can’t tell me that there aren’t other souls that can be put into place.”

“I understand your apprehension, Mr. Duffy, but those other souls are being placed into their assigned births all the time. Tomorrow’s quota might be—will be—completely different than it was for today.” Wilson paused a moment. “Listen, Mr. Duffy. I need a soul to turn in, and I cannot understand your sudden resistance. After all, you did in fact attempt to end your life. Even if I could let you live, your life would never be the same. The fact that your wife committed adultery would not change. Can you honestly tell me you would happily take her back just to avoid moving on to the afterlife?”

“I guess I really didn’t think about that. Isn’t there a way to go back a few days earlier?”

“I’m not a miracle worker. I’m not a time traveler. I’m here only to collect your soul.”

Hearing the finality of Wilson’s words, I had never felt more alone. I began to cry.

After several moments of silence, Wilson spoke. “Suppose I had an alternative—”

“Name it,” I replied quickly, wiping the tears from my cheeks. “I’ll take whatever you’ve got to offer.”

“Slow down, Mr. Duffy. You might not like what I have to offer. It most certainly will not give you the life you’ve become accustomed to.”

“I’m listening.”

“You see, I have been doing this for sixty-one years now, and when I became a soul collector, I was fifty-seven.”

“Wait, what? How is that possible?”

“I died when I was fifty-seven. I had a heart attack and was brought back to life. I was dead for several minutes, and because there happened to be no more new souls available at the time, a used soul needed to be collected. The soul collector at the time of my death had been doing her job for quite some time. I also didn’t want to cease to exist, so we turned in her soul instead. In other words, she retired.”

“OK, I think I get that, but the math doesn’t make sense.”

“It’s the eight-to-one ratio that is probably throwing you off. Think of it like this: I continued to age at the same rate as everyone else, but I lived eight times longer. If I hadn’t become a soul collector, I would be sixty-six, although I would have been that age more than fifty years ago.”

I started to comprehend the difference in time as Wilson explained it. That’s when it hit me.

“So, just like that? You’re ready to retire?” I asked.

“It’s not as spontaneous as it appears, Mr. Duffy. Like I said, I’ve been at this for sixty-one years. I’m getting tired. I’ve been contemplating moving on for many years, and I think I’m finally ready.” He looked at me as if sizing me up. “You see, I’ve been on the lookout for someone to take over for me. That person is you.”

“What happens next for me?”

Wilson held both of his hands out, palms up. As I looked at them, a small wooden box appeared on each hand. A name was carved on the lid of each box. One box had my name, Jack Duffy. On the other box, Wilson Oliver was carved. The box with Wilson’s name was much older than my box.

“If you take over being a soul collector, you will take both of these boxes. The box with your name will be yours to keep until you feel it’s time to retire. At your current age of thirty-five, you would almost certainly be able to live into the twenty-fourth century.”

“Done! Let’s do this,” I replied excitedly.

“Not so fast, Mr. Duffy. There are consequences. You would not be able to talk to anyone from your previous life again. The only conversations permitted would be with the dead or dying, much like I am speaking to you now. Trust me when I tell you that it gets quite lonely.”

“Wilson, I’ve lived the last five years of my life in relative solitude. Besides my wife, who just cheated on me, I had no real friends. I don’t see a big difference.”

Wilson nodded in agreement. “I knew that was going to be your response. Once you take these boxes from me, you cannot go back. You will be a soul collector from now until you turn in your soul. This is just prolonging the inevitable.”

“I get it. I’m in till I retire. I can do this,” I replied.

“OK then, Mr. Duffy. Take the two boxes from my hands. Once you possess them, open the box with my name on it and hold it open toward me.”

“Wait. What happens to you?”

“I’m retiring, boy. Haven’t you been paying attention?”

“Yes, I get that. But will you just cease to exist? What about your body?”

“I will become an unknown death in the current year, and you will capture my soul in this box. You will then turn in that soul and get another empty box. You will continue to fill boxes with collected souls until you retire.”

“OK, but how do I collect souls? Will there be some sort of training?”

Wilson laughed out loud. “You ask too many questions. Once you take the boxes, all will become clear.”

I took a deep breath as I reached for the boxes in Wilson’s hands. Just before I slid them from his hands, I paused. Our eyes met, and I could have sworn I saw a twinkle in his. I held my hands next to his, palms up. Wilson rotated his hands on to mine, transferring the boxes to me simultaneously. He lifted his hands in the air, and now it was his turn to lean back to relax. I turned the boxes over in my hands, examining each of them individually. I thought about sliding my box into my pocket, but before I could, it vanished. Startled, I looked up at Wilson.

“Things will be much different for you from now on, Mr. Duffy. You will have, shall we call it, practical magic at your disposal from this point forward.”

“Cool.”

“Now if you would, open my box and hold it out in front of me.”