Soul Insurance

by Glenn Bullion

  Mom said nothing as she looked at Connor. He winced and stared at two souls as they stopped just outside the car. They hovered for a moment before flying away.

  "They don't think anyone can hear them. So they talk loud sometimes. They even wake me up outside the window."

  "So, they actually talk?" Mom asked. "They have voices and use words? And you hear them?"

  Connor nodded at what he thought was an odd question. How else would he have a conversation with a soul?

  His parents stared at each other, lost in their own thoughts. Mom's expression slowly took on a look of fear, and Dad couldn't blame her. They realized just how different their son was.

  Science could only explain so much about the mystery of souls. Some information was common knowledge. Every living creature had a soul, and upon death, the soul would exist without a body. Reincarnation was the natural way for a soul to be reborn. There was no happier moment for a couple wanting a child then when a soul settled into the mother's womb after making love.

  But there were so many questions that science couldn't answer. What did souls do between lives? Could they talk to each other? Did they retain memories of their previous life until reincarnation? How did they feel being surrounded by living people? Could they feel anything at all? Despite the advances of science, some questions could never be answered.

  Unless someone could simply ask the spirits. Connor's life would never be the same.

  "Connor, listen to me," Dad said. "You can't tell anyone you can talk to souls. You have to keep it a secret, okay?"

  He shrugged. "Okay, Dad. I won't tell anyone."

  "And don't talk to strangers," Mom added. She smiled sheepishly at how silly she sounded. "Remember how we told you not to talk to a person unless you knew them? Well, the same thing goes for souls."

  "I can't really tell them apart. But okay, Mom. I only talk to a few who stop by my room at night."

  She held her head in her hands. "Souls peeking in on my son. I don't like this."

  Dad laughed. "They're harmless. Remember a few nights ago, and the soul that floated outside our window while we were—"

  "Hey!" Mom shouted, gesturing to Connor. She was irritated at first, but then chuckled.

  "That's what I'm gonna do when I go," Dad said. "Be a Peeping Tom."

  "I want to be that, too," Connor said.

  "I thought you wanted to be a top secret agent?"

  "I can be an agent and a Peeper Tom."

  "Peeping Tom. And no, you can't."

  "Aww. What's a Peeping Tom?"

  The three shared a laugh, and Dad left the lot to merge with traffic once again. He reached out and held his wife's hand, giving her a reassuring smile. They loved their son more than anything, and would continue to do so. The fact that he could talk to souls didn't change anything.

  Everything would be fine.

  *****

  Connor opened one eye as a light pulled him from his dream. He didn't know what time it was, but his body told him it was late. Glancing around his bedroom, he saw a light under the bedroom door out in the hall. It wasn't the hall light, but the light of a soul.

  "Miss Johnson?" he said quietly. "Is that you?"

  He thought of all the souls that visited him. Most stopped by the bedroom window just before he went to sleep. None of them ever went past the bedroom into the house, but Miss Johnson was the only spirit who visited late.

  "Miss Johnson? I'm trying to sleep."

  The spirit moved through the bedroom door, lighting up the room. Connor rubbed his eyes and sat up in bed.

  "You woke me up—"

  "Connor, I need you to do exactly what I say."

  It wasn't Miss Johnson. The voice belonged to the man he'd heard every day of his life.

  "Daddy?"

  "Yeah."

  Connor looked at the spirit in confusion. He saw Dad just that morning before he went to work, but a spirit was in his bedroom. Dad wasn't a spirit.

  "What's going on—?"

  "No time. I need you to go wake your mother. Both of you need to get out of the house. Now!"

  He jumped at the force of his last word, and nearly fell out of bed. His father shouted once again when Connor reached for the light in the hall.

  "No! No lights. Let's go get your mom."

  "I'm scared, Dad."

  "I know. But just keep listening to me. Hurry up, now. But you have to keep quiet."

  He trotted into his parents' room, Dad following behind him. Mom stirred from the light of the soul, and struggled to open her eyes as Connor shook her arm.

  "Connor? Are you okay?"

  "Mom, Dad says we have to get out of the house."

  "Daddy's at work, dear."

  "He's right behind me."

  Mom's eyes lit up as she jolted upright. She looked back and forth from the soul behind Connor's shoulder to her son's eyes. Her face took on a look of despair as she covered her mouth.

  "Are you sure?" she asked, choking back tears. "Are you sure it's him?"

  "Grab her hand," Dad said. "Pull her if you have to."

  Connor and Mom both jumped when they heard a window break downstairs. Mom grabbed him by the shoulders.

  "Get under the bed and stay there."

  He did as he was told, sliding under the bed. Mom grabbed the house phone on the nightstand only to curse when it was silent in her ear. She ran to the closet and rummaged through a box. Dad floated nearby to give her some light in the dark bedroom.

  "I'm so sorry," Dad said. "Steve and I finally found him, a man named Mike Burns. A routine trash complaint turns out to be the house of the serial killer we've been looking for."

  Connor wasn't sure if Dad wanted him to repeat his words to Mom, but he remained quiet.

  They both froze when they heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

  "Hurry," Dad told Mom. "Connor, don't you move from under that bed."

  The footsteps drew closer. Mom dropped the bullet as she tried to load the gun. Connor watched her hands shake as she bent over and tried to pick it up.

  "Well, hi there."

  The voice came from the doorway. Connor desperately wanted to look, but didn't dare move an inch.

  "Stay away from my wife," Dad said.

  "The picture in your husband's wallet didn't do you justice. Very pretty."

  Mom tried to load the gun, but the man charged her, stepping through the soul in front of him. Connor flinched as he heard a cutting sound, and watched blood spray on the wall. Dad cried out, and Mom fell to the floor. Her eyes pleaded with Connor as she struggled to breathe.

  The man leaned down and peered under the bed. Connor gasped at the evil, ugly face.

  "Hello, little boy."

  "Run, Connor!" Dad shouted.

  He shoved himself back along the floor. They both stood up at the same time, and Connor saw the long knife dripping blood in his hand. Connor ran around the bed for the door. The man reached out to grab the boy, but resistance at his foot stopped him from moving. Mom held onto him as she continued to bleed.

  "Little bitch," he said, kicking her.

  Connor heard his mother's cries of pain as he ran down the hall. He stopped at the top of the stairs and turned, not wanting to leave her.

  "Mommy!"

  Light moved in the bedroom, and Dad stopped by the door. "Run! Get away!"

  He ran down the stairs, aiming directly for the front door. He turned the lock for the doorknob, but there was also a lock above it and a chain he couldn't reach.

  "Hey, kid," the voice said upstairs. "Are you down there?"

  Connor ran from the door and slid in the space between the couch and wall. He heard footsteps descending the stairs, and saw light in the corner of the living room.

  "I got your mommy's gun. Why don't you come on out and I can teach you to shoot? You can call me Uncle Mike."

  "Don't listen to him, Connor," Dad said. "And don't answer me. Don't let him know where you are. I know you're scared, but I'm not gonna try to
find you right now."

  Mike turned on the light, killing every shadow in the living room. Connor jumped slightly, but remained quiet behind the couch.

  "And who are you, little firefly?" Mike said, addressing the soul. "Are you Officer Leland? Or his partner? Hell, you could be my father. You souls should have name-tags or something."

  "I'll be right back," Dad called. "Be brave, Connor. I'll only be a second."

  He floated across the living room toward the dining room, disappearing out of sight.

  "Oh, now what's this?" Mike said. "Should I follow the bouncing light? Should I ignore it? Is this a trick?"

  Connor remained quiet. He could see Mike's shoes under the couch as he walked through the living room.

  "Listen to me," Dad called from the dining room. "He came in through the bathroom. The window's broken. You can climb on the toilet and jump out. I'll distract him. When I say, you run like crazy."

  He wanted to protest. He wanted to hug his father and mother and cry in their arms. The only thing he could do is hang on Dad's words and stay where he was.

  The seconds stretched to minutes as Mike toured the first floor of the house. He whistled casually as he looked under the dining room table and behind curtains. Dad's voice made Connor jump as Mike opened a closet and shoved his head inside.

  "Now!"

  Connor squeezed out from behind the couch and ran. He was halfway across the dining room when Mike turned from the closet.

  "Whoa there, little boy."

  Mike stepped forward, but the soul in the corner flew directly at his face. He swatted at the spirit, shouting and cursing. Connor closed the bathroom door behind him and locked it. As he backed up, Dad moved through the door.

  "Hurry. He's coming—"

  The door cracked as Mike kicked it open. It crashed into the wall, passing through Dad. Connor had never been so afraid in his life as he looked at the anger in Mike's eyes.

  "Come here, kid," he said, grabbing Connor's shirt. "I want to talk to you."

  Connor cried and struggled as Mike dragged him back into the dining room. Dad flew near Mike's face, but the killer didn't budge.

  "Don't you dare hurt my son."

  "I'm guessing this is your old man here, with how energetic he is," Mike said, dropping Connor to the floor. He admired the gun he'd taken from Mom. "I still need to teach you how to shoot."

  Connor covered his head and waited for the inevitable.

  "I'm doing you a favor, kid. Killing your father, that was his own fault. But I don't want to break up a family, so you'll all be together. Three little fireflies. I just don't want your mommy to go to waste, so after I kill you—"

  Mike stopped talking as the shots rang out. Every muscle in Connor's body tensed as he curled into a tight ball. He waited to feel pain, blood, anything. He risked opening an eye when he heard a thud next to him.

  Mike stared back at him, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. The anger was gone from his face, replaced by shock and pain. Over his body Connor saw Mom on her side by the front door. She held their backup gun in both hands.

  "Mommy!"

  He slipped once on the pool of blood forming slowly around Mike Burns. Dad was right behind him. Mom winced in pain as Connor hugged her, getting blood all over his pajamas.

  "My brave boy," she whispered, struggling to smile.

  "Call 911, Connor, now!" Dad said.

  Connor rushed to the phone as Mom looked at the soul hovering near her face.

  "I know it's you," she said, trying to touch the spirit. "We saved our son."

  "Don't talk, honey. Just lie still."

  "Daddy, the phone doesn't work."

  Connor jumped as someone shouted in rage. He spun and saw a soul hovering over Mike Burns' body. Dad floated closer to Connor, settling in between Mike and his son.

  "You can hear me?" Mike said. "How interesting."

  The angry soul flew across the living room, moving over Mom and through the front door. Connor and Dad moved back to Mom as she lay motionless on the landing by the door. Connor gently shook her shoulder, but she didn't move.

  "Wake up, Mommy." Tears ran down his face. "You have to wake up."

  She didn't wake up.

  Father and son cried together for nearly a minute until the area around Mom's stomach started to glow. Dad had seen death many times, and sighed sadly as the light rose from her body. It started out small, but grew to the size and shape of a typical soul.

  Mom moaned and wavered for a moment in the air. "Oww, my chest hurts. What happened?"

  "Mommy! You're okay?"

  He rushed forward to hug his mother, and passed through the soul. He couldn't touch his parents. He'd never be able to touch them again.

  "Oh, God," she said, her voice cracking with emotion. "Am I…are we…?"

  "Yeah," Dad said slowly. "I'm afraid we are."

  CHAPTER 2

  Twenty-two Years Later

  Connor let the hot water cascade off him as he scrubbed his hair in the shower. The bathroom door was open, and music played on the computer out in the living room of his apartment. He stood on his toes to glance out the tiny window next to him. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, only souls flying. One of the neighbors in the next apartment building was cleaning his grill. A girl aimed a hose at her little brother, both of them giggling. She adjusted her aim and sprayed water at a soul as it passed by. It indulged the children's playfulness for a moment, giving them a moving target by weaving in the air. It was shaping up to be a beautiful summer day.

  His mood fell when his mind drifted to the tradition he had to keep.

  He jumped back as a soul suddenly stopped outside the window. The spirit's male voice was muffled through the glass.

  "Whoa! Naked man alert. Abort, abort!"

  He shook his head as the soul flew away. "Asshole."

  Connor was halfway through shaving when he thought he noticed a glow in the hall. Sticking his head out, he noticed a solitary soul floating in the living room. Walls meant nothing to a soul. They could move freely anywhere in the world. Often they would pass through his apartment while he watched TV at night. A few would even stop to watch the ballgame with him on occasion. But one stopping in his living room while he shaved didn't happen often.

  He had to be very careful in how he talked to it. There were a few spirits out there that knew he could hear them, but he didn't advertise that fact. The last thing he needed was a roomful of souls, all with messages they wanted to deliver to the living.

  "Uh, excuse me?" he said politely. "You might have the wrong apartment."

  "Dude, I'm not sure if it's possible for us body-less folk to go blind, but please, do not step out of that bathroom."

  Connor smiled, recognizing the voice of his best friend. "Ryan. What are you up to?"

  "Hopefully not seeing your equipment."

  Connor and Ryan had been friends for nearly a year. Ryan had been dead for the past two years, dying in a boating accident. He'd been gone for just over a week. He would disappear here and there, and always have crazy stories for Connor when he got back.

  "Why are you up so early?" Ryan asked. He stayed in the hall just outside the bathroom. "It's Saturday. You working today?"

  "No. I had a woman over, and we got a little dirty, if you know what I mean."

  "Did you throw mud on her? Because I know you didn't introduce her to Mr. Willy."

  He laughed, and nearly cut himself shaving. That was Ryan. Friendly, sometimes crude, but always able to make Connor laugh.

  "That's not cool," Connor said, examining the near-miss on his neck. "I don't feel like cutting my own throat."

  "You didn't really have a woman over, did you?"

  "Nope."

  "Come on, man." Connor could almost imagine Ryan tossing his hands in the air. "I've just been all over the world. I've been to parties, parades, sporting matches, swimming in the middle of the Atlantic with dolphins—"

  "And spying on as many
naked women as you could."

  "Well, yeah, but that's all the time. I didn't think it was worth mentioning. My point is…go out and live a little. Don't be an idiot like me and wait until you drown before you start living. Let's go out tonight and hit a few clubs."

  Connor smiled at the thought. "Yeah, that will look good. Me and my lady-killer friend, who just happens to be a soul, tearing it up all over town. I'll pass. The Orioles are on tonight."

  Ryan sighed. "Alright, man, I'll be here. So, what's the plan for today?"

  "I've got some things I have to do. Private things, so don't go popping up behind me."

  "No problem. Is everything alright? You don't owe money to the mob or something?"

  "I'm good. Just some personal stuff."

  "Alright, man. I'll let you do your thing. I'll be back tonight to watch the game. Hey, has that dancer moved out of her apartment downstairs yet?"

  "No, she's still there."

  "Well, then, I've got work to do. See ya."

  Connor shook his head as Ryan slowly floated through the floor. He heard a feminine startled cry, followed by some cursing, and then Ryan's laughter.

  Dread crept over him as he drove in his beat-up Volkswagen Beetle. He stopped at his favorite diner, even though he wasn't hungry or thirsty. The sign inside the diner instructed him to seat himself, so he did just that, passing two spirits and a waiter carrying a tray of drinks. A waitress finally hovered over him after he waited for five minutes. He barely noticed her.

  "Hello? Sir?" she said again. "What can I get you?"

  He looked up at her, his face turning red. "Sorry. Just an iced tea, please."

  The waitress rolled her eyes as she left. Connor grabbed a sugar packet and ran it through his fingers as he listened to the conversations around him. The living only heard themselves, unaware there were other voices talking all around them. He watched a show on the Discovery Channel with scientists trying to figure out the mystery of how souls communicated with each other. Some theorized they didn't communicate at all. Even a person that had soul insurance, and claimed a new body, didn't remember their time as a spirit.

  If only the living knew what truly surrounded them.