by Anthology
The sidewalks were beginning to fill with the daily workforce leaving for the evening. The farther I walked, the more crowded the sidewalks became. Having no real plan, I decided I would step off the concrete path of civilization and have a seat.
A block later, I came upon a little bistro with a small outdoor courtyard. I moved through the entry and out onto the terrace. I sat along the outside railing, and a waiter brought me a menu and a glass of water.
Despite the cover on the patio, the heat was nearly unbearable. Moving to a table inside never crossed my mind. I just sat in the silence, wondering why this day was destined to be so disastrous. There was nothing left for fate to deface.
I sipped from the glass of water, feeling its cool tingle as it passed my lips. I looked around the patio and realized I was alone. My soul was just as alone. I wondered what I should be feeling. Hate? Fear? Anger? I felt them all but none at the same time. I felt like crying but couldn’t find the energy. I thought about calling my therapist but dismissed the thought. I knew what he would tell me: it was all going to be OK. How on earth was it going to be OK? My wife, the center of my world, had just cheated on me. My job was horrendous. My entire life seemed to be in a tailspin heading for a fiery crash.
I suddenly realized that throughout the last thirty minutes, I had been carrying my briefcase. Why hadn’t I set it down in the apartment when I walked in? I sat it on the ground next to my chair and saw Cyndi’s prescription. I pulled it from the side pocket and laid it on the table in front of me. I took another sip of water and began to read the label.
I scanned through the generic warnings and precautions. Toward the end of the label, it mentioned that the side effects could be numbness and drowsiness. That sounded about right. I tore open the sealed envelope and popped the lid off the bottle. I emptied a handful of pills onto the table in front of me and contemplated my future.
What exactly did my future hold? I no longer had a wife that loved me. Hell, did she ever love me? I had a boss that would be happy to see me thrown out onto the street. I had no kids, thankfully. Both my parents had passed away years ago. I had nothing left at all. I knew right then that nobody would ever miss me. I took another drink.
Having dealt with depression for many years, I was no stranger to the thought of suicide. Hell, I think everyone thinks about the what-ifs of suicide at least once in their life. I just happened to have thought about it many times over the years. Through countless sessions with my therapist, we concluded that the depression stemmed from mass bullying throughout primary school. The feeling of hatred was still strong toward the people that caused me so much pain. At that moment, random neurons in my brain connected two events in my live, separated by nearly 20 years. Pearlman was the coalescence of all the bullies of my youth.
And there I sat, contemplating my future, my mortality. Whether or not to take my own life. I looked from pill to pill. I knew how easy it would be to end all the pain and suffering. Just a handful of pills and a quick gulp of clean, cool water would be so easy.
I reached up and wiped a bead of sweat from my brow and glanced around once more. I tried to think of a single reason not to take the pills, but nothing came to mind. All that I could think about was seeing my wife move rhythmically with another man.
********
“Please, God, no!” I said, barely containing my growing anxiety. “Please tell me,” I begged.
“You were supposed to wait for me on the bus,” he said.
“Why’s that?” I said turning fully in Wilson’s direction.
The old man held his hand out, producing an amber-colored prescription bottle out of thin air. He gave the bottle a shake, rattling the remaining Percocet pills inside.
“Who are you?” I asked, afraid I already knew the answer to the question.
“You already know who I am,” he replied.
“All right then. Why are you here?”
“I think you know the answer to that question as well.”
I nodded my head in agreement. Although yesterday was an absolutely horrific day, now I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to die. A terrible job and a cheating wife were no reasons to end a life, and all it took was a kind stranger and a bus ride to figure that out.
“Did I really take all those pills?” I asked, looking down at the coin still in my hand.
“Why not find out for yourself? You’ve come this far, but I wouldn’t think less of you for not wanting to see your final moments.”
Before I had a chance to decide, my subconscious mind made the choice for me. I turned the coin for the final time.”
********
As a tear rolled down my cheek, I reached for a pill and placed it on my tongue. I instinctively swallowed it without water. A moment later, I took two more. I sat there waiting for something to keep me from taking the whole pile, but nothing did. I scooped the remaining pills from the table and tossed them back all at once. I washed them down with the last of my water.
Not wanting to cause a scene at the quaint little restaurant, I slid the pill bottle into my pocket and left the patio through the side exit. Back on the sidewalk, I meandered aimlessly for few blocks before coming to a bus stop. With no motivation to proceed, I sat on the bench.
Leaning back, I wondered how long the pills would take and how it would happen. Having never used pain medications, I was unsure what the effects would be. All I felt was anxiety.
As the moments passed, I thought about what I had witnessed. Seeing Cyndi with another man was an absolute betrayal that I would have never imagined. Not for the first time, I asked myself how she could do it. Had our love for each other meant nothing to her?
I tried to figure out where our relationship might have gone wrong, but thinking back to our last fight some six months previous, nothing stood out. That last fight was over something stupid, like leaving dishes unrinsed in the sink. It wasn’t really the dishes that the fight was about, but it certainly was the igniter. The fight carried on for several days, and every little idiosyncrasy fueled the argument. Finally, after I was tired of being mad at her for being mad at me, I apologized, and all was better. So I thought. Could that have been the reason? Could that have made her look at me differently? Surely not, I mused.
I felt so alone.
Moments later, I noticed my breathing begin to change. It felt as if I could not get enough air in my lungs. I tried to take in larger breaths, but just as soon as I inhaled, I involuntarily let the breath out. My accelerated breathing caused my heart to beat faster. I didn’t notice it right away, but once my hand began to twitch, I knew it was from the pills. I leaned my head back and tried to relax, but the combination of the traffic noise and the overdose of pills prevented me from doing so.
Then, out of nowhere, it felt like my stomach flipped a somersault. I quickly leaned forward, and as I did, I knew I was going to puke. I looked up and down the street for a garbage can, but none were in sight. With no other alternative, I stood up and staggered to the curb. Leaning over, I threw up what little food I had eaten through the day. I spat out the languishing bile in my mouth and tried to stand up. A sudden dizzy spell took over, and I nearly collapsed backward. I reached out and grabbed the signpost to steady myself. I felt the time was near. I figured it would be quick, but I had no idea that the pills would affect me so soon.
As I stood there, a man walking by stopped next to me and asked “You doing OK, man?”
Although confusion was setting in, I heard the man’s words and nodded. When I looked into the man’s eyes, I saw worry and concern.
He patted me on the shoulder and continued down the sidewalk. For a brief moment, I wondered if I had made the wrong choice by taking the pills.
A moment later, a city bus pulled to a stop right in front of me. It took me a moment to realize that I was still standing at the bus stop. I instinctively pulled my bus pass from my wallet and climbed aboard. In typical fashion, the first several rows of the bus were filled, so I moved to the very last
row and slumped down. The bus lurched ahead, and I felt as if I had left my stomach back at the stop. I leaned forward, feeling like I was going to puke again, but it was just dry heaves. There was nothing left in my stomach.
I looked around at the other passengers on the bus. They were all on their time schedule. Most were just getting off work and heading home, while others were heading in the other direction. For me, time had no meaning. Unlike those around me, I had no pressing matters. I knew the end was near. The pungent odors of sweat and unwashed bodies drifted about the cramped vehicle, but I was unfazed. Nothing bothered me. I leaned back and smiled. For the first time all day, I felt contentment.
As moments passed for me, hours passed for the others in the world. I drifted in and out of consciousness, waiting for the end to take me. It wasn’t until the jostle that my eyes opened.
********
“So, am I dead then? Is that why you’re here?”
“Well, yes and no. I’ll explain.” He pulled a white handkerchief from his breast pocket and dabbed it across his forehead. “You see, much like yourself, I was late today. Actually, I need to correct that. I was with you earlier, but it wasn’t at the proper time, so I left you to take care of another matter. When I returned to you, you had in fact died but had miraculously come back to life.”
“If I’m alive, then why are you still here? I can go now, right? I got a second chance?” I eagerly suggested.
“It’s not like that, Mr. Duffy.” He paused and slid the refolded handkerchief back into his outer pocket. “You did die. And as soon as you took those pills, you set a number of other events in motion. So, per my orders, I need to take your soul. You see, I’m a soul collector.”
“But you said I miraculously came back to life. Doesn’t that mean I am, in fact, a miracle myself?”
“In all the years of doing this job, Mr. Duffy, I have only witnessed a similar event one other time.”
“And what happened then?” I asked.
Wilson looked down to the ground. “What happened then doesn’t matter now. What does matter is I need to turn in a soul, and yours is the one that needs collecting.”
We sat in silence, both of us staring at anything but each other. I thought about getting up and running. At his age, it would be no contest.
“Yes, you could run, Mr. Duffy, but it would be pointless,” Wilson stated matter-of-factly.
“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.”