The Borrowed Souls: A Novel

by Paul B. Kohler

  “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.

  Chapter 2.5

  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.”

  I shook my head in utter confusion. “You know, Hauser . . . just lead the way. I shouldn’t be surprised about anything that you tell me on how things work in the afterlife.”

  “That’s the spirit, my boy.”

  Hauser and I walked up to the glass entry doors and stepped through. Once inside the lobby, my initial sense of the building’s demure size was compounded. Straight ahead of the doors we’d just walked through were another pair of glass doors exiting the opposite side of the lobby. To the left was the bank of elevators—correction, the elevator. The building was small enough that only one lift was provided. There were two doors on either side of the elevator, most likely stairwell access points. To the right was yet another pair of glass doors exiting back outside. On each side of the doors were two small offices.

  Considering that this was the entry point to the headquarters of the afterlife, I truly expected to see gold-encrusted chandeliers and imported Italian marble floors. Instead, the floor had some kind of 60s-era linoleum finish, and the walls had a wainscoting of faded cream-colored beadboard with a hideous lavender wallpaper above. The light fixtures were simple, clear glass luminaires.

  “I like it,” I said. “Not at all pretentious.”

  Hauser chuckled as he pressed the call button for the elevator. A moment later a mechanical bell rang as the tarnished brass door opened.

  “After you, sport,” Hauser said, motioning me into the lift.

  I stepped past him into the elevator and was confronted with the splendor that I had expected in the lobby. The walls were lined with pearl-essence panels, and every exposed screw or fastener appeared to be gold-plated. On the ceiling of the elevator was an extravagant chandelier, with hundreds of crystal prisms reflecting the light magnificently in the compact space. I laughed out loud.

  Hauser joined in my laughter. “I tell you, boy, you should see the look on your face.”

  As our laughter subsided, the elevator door closed. Hauser and I stood next to each other quietly. On the elevator panel were buttons for every floor from the lobby up to the twentieth floor. There were also two additional buttons: basement one and basement two.

  After an uncomfortably long pause, I looked over at Hauser. He stood silently, as if waiting for something to happen.

  “So are we going to actually push a button?” I asked.

  Hauser held a solitary finger up as he continued to contemplate something. After a few more moments he nodded his head, then reached out and simultaneously pushed the seven and thirteen buttons. As he did so, a scattering of other buttons lit up, but not the seven or the thirteen.

  “Is that some kind of a surreptitious access code?” I asked sarcastically.

  “The Sentinel is nothing without its obscure security protocols. They change the sequence every so often, and it’s linked to the moon phase and the current month. I was trying to figure out the exact combination. Thankfully, today was an easy one. I’ve had to enter the elevator before when the combination was ten buttons. And you have to press them all at the exact same moment.”

  “And what if you get it wrong?” I asked.

  Hauser whistled and arched his e
yebrow. “Well, I’ve only heard stories . . .”

  Before he could continue, the lighted buttons began to blink out one by one. Twenty-three. Nineteen. Seventeen. Eleven. Five. Three. Two. One.

  “Is there any coincidence that including the two buttons you pressed, all of the lighted buttons were prime numbers?” I asked.

  “I tell you, Jack. You are one sharp wit. They actually had to draw me a diagram about it all when I first came in here.”

  A moment later the elevator door opened, and I suddenly realized that the elevator had not moved an inch the whole time. Surprisingly, though, the lobby was not the same lobby that we had just been in. The decor of this lobby mimicked that of the elevator car.

  Hauser stepped out first and I followed. As soon as we were both off the lift, the door closed then vanished. I nearly jumped out of my skin. In its place stood a man with his back toward us. He wore a tan suit and a white fedora.

  Hauser cleared his throat.

  The man before us turned sharply and the sudden recognition sent chills throughout every point of my body. It was Wilson Oliver.

  Chapter 3

  I released the coin, and was back on the pavilions in Denver. Wilson sat across from me, smiling.

  “Why didn’t you tell me that we’ve already been reintroduced?” I asked.

  “Well, I wasn’t sure how much memory loss you’d actually suffered. I didn’t want to startle you too much with the state of the situation,” Wilson said, avoiding eye contact.

  What is he hiding? I wondered.

  Wilson brought his eyes up and met mine. “I see Hauser hasn’t taught you how to control your mind quite yet,” he said.

  Shit. “I mean, yeah, not so much. I’ve only just recently been able to hear the occasional thought from someone else, and Hauser is the proverbial blank slate when it comes to his thoughts.”

  “Hauser is one of the best at controlling what can be heard from deep within his mind. It’s almost as if he has the ability to . . . tick off a list of what he’ll allow out and what he keeps private. Personally, I hold everything in and don’t allow a single thought to leak away. It’s easier that way.”

  “Then I’m confused. I thought that my training was complete. Is that not so?” I asked.

  “I think it best that we reenter your past,” Wilson said, avoiding answering the question. “I think you would do much better learning about the status of things all on your own. What do you say we give the coin another flip?”

  I exhaled deeply, feeling my frustration build. My earlier restful senses were quickly being replaced with feelings of disdain. Regardless of my reservations, I picked up the coin and flipped it over.

  Chapter 3.5

  I was speechless. I stole a quick look at Hauser, who just grinned smugly. I returned my unbelieving gaze toward Wilson.

  “Ah, Mr. Duffy,” Wilson said. “It’s great to see you again. Aside from the recent . . . complications, how has the afterlife been treating you?”

  I tried to hide the shock—seeing my first collected soul standing right in front of me, in person, just as he’d looked all those months ago—but I failed miserably. “I, um . . .”

  Wilson and Hauser both laughed at my sudden inability to speak coherently. I knew they weren’t laughing at me, but most likely at the odd situation that we were all in. “Odd indeed,” Wilson said. “And I’d imagine that you are full of questions right about now. As much as I would like to sit down with you and explain everything, we have more pressing matters to attend to.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, maybe later?”

  “I’m not sure if we have time on this trip, compadre,” said Hauser. “Perhaps if the meeting with the council doesn’t go too long, Wilson here can fill you in briefly.”

  “Yes, yes. If this session is as expeditious as I’m hoping, we should have a few moments.” Wilson turned and began to walk down the corridor. “If you would follow me, council is already in session, and they’re waiting for us.”

  Oh great. We come up here, wherever this is, and we get thrown right to the wolves.

  “Please, Jack. Try your best to silence your thoughts. Once we’re inside the council, it would be best to speak only when you’re spoken to, and really try to focus on the conversation at hand. We don’t necessarily want to let on anything that is . . . questionable?” Hauser said.

  I caught his drift instantly. I forced my recent deviances from my mind, and nodded.

  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.

  Chapter 4

  “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.