The Soul Collector

by Quijas, Tamela

  Her attention to detail blasted from the screen, as well. She possessed an unspoken drive to delve into the darkest part of a story and gain the absolute truth. She’d seen far too many professionals lose face for one ill-written interview, a word out of line, or a single blank look. Eva had to know what she spoke about, and ask the questions the public longed to have answered.

  Tonight, she had scored a vital coup for WKIB and the Keyes to New York program. She’d succeeded in gaining an audience with Luke Angeles, a man renowned for scorning all other interviews, and her boss was ecstatic. Eva Keyes, renowned investigative reporter to the celebrities of the “geek world”, was at the pinnacle of her form.

  Nevertheless, she felt the entire weight of the world would come crashing down. Far too many uncertainties gnawed at her, preventing her from focusing. Her ears buzzed and an uncomfortable hot flush covered her skin. She was having trouble concentrating, and she had an interview scheduled in less than a half hour.

  Get a grip on it, girl! It is not as if you haven't done this a hundred times before, or that tonight is different from any other night! It’s time to use your brains!

  Eva moved across the crowded set on her trademark designer heels, methodically avoiding tangled electrical cables and cameras. Despite the high level of chatter from soundmen, make-up people and camera operators, the echo of her stilettos tapped loudly on the tiled floor. Her smooth brow returned to the usual furrow, and she remained deep in thought, the notes she gathered for the evening remaining clutched in one hand.

  Mentally, she attempted to count to one hundred as she methodically did before every interview. The action, intended to have a calming effect, failed. She grew more frustrated and wanted to growl.

  Calm nerves, calm nerve, calm nerves.

  She repeated the soothing litany, as she often did before meeting the evening's guest. The normalcy of the familiar chant didn't have the desired effect and her frown deepened. She was at a loss about what would have her tense about the ambiguous Luke Angeles.

  After spending weeks studying the popular syndicated television show, Those Among Us, Eva understood how the program succeeded in attracting millions of viewers. Intent on her research, she remained religiously tuned into the Saturday show and couldn't find fault with the reality series. Addicted to the nail-biting and spine-tingling revelations of supposedly haunted residences, she waited anxiously for each unveiling of whispered voices the human ear hadn’t detected.

  Forever the investigative reporter, she prepared her questions for the upcoming interview. She studied the diverse regional reports from the far-flung areas the North American Department of Ghostly Experience League, a.k.a NADGEL, had traveled. There had been grandiose estates in the English and American countryside, a crumbling castle in fog-shrouded Romania, Gothic churches, and a few homes. The various sites were multi-regional and lacking in any significant similarities that bound them…all except for one small item.

  Each location contained abnormally high paranormal activity.

  Those Among Us had a crew of the most dedicated individuals. The eldest of the investigating squad, Brice Linten, left his teaching profession at Yale to become one of Luke's elite members. Ethan Benecorte and Gilbert Copeland, young men from upstate New York, were experienced in the technical matters involving EMF and digital photography. Nikolai, the Russian with the nearly indecipherable accent, was a veritable encyclopedia of spiritual lore. Lastly, there was the mystical Deborah, an elderly woman who imagined she read the auras surrounding the living. The staff and crew were easy to research, each having their own popular websites and an enthusiastic fan base. The television program’s popularity added to their celebrity image tenfold, and Eva assumed they reveled in their fame.

  That is, all except for Luke Angeles.

  There wasn’t a social networking site, nor did he interject commentary into his team’s popular website. As the leader of the celebrated paranormal program, she’d been unable to find any information beyond the basics. Angeles avoided the trappings of popularity with an all out dedication bordering on the maniacal.

  Except for the television show, he didn’t appear to exist.

  Even his publisher was mute about his actual identity. Angeles had written two popular books that Eva had read, cover to cover. Those Among Us and To Remain Behind had been stellar bestsellers, sweeping the bestseller charts within weeks of publication. Despite the distinction, he chose not to appear at book signings or interviews.

  “He doesn't like to be touched, or have his fame broadcasted to the public. What is he, a damn prima donna?” She scoffed sarcastically, more to herself than to the hovering set crew.

  After hours of sitting slack-jawed before her big screen, a pillow clutched to her chest, Eva realized people avoided Luke Angeles. During his hour-long television show, she noticed his colleagues skirted around him. His associates appeared on familiar terms with their mentor, but there seemed to be an unspoken and well-respected distance maintained. After careful consideration, it appeared people preferred not to invade his personal space.

  He doesn’t like to be touched.

  It had to be him, unable to deny the uneasy feeling ruthlessly tormenting her for the past few hours. The thought put her at her worst, but Eva couldn’t understand why. It seemed the discomfort was more deeply rooted than previously imagined and she paused in her mental meanderings to give him a long moment's consideration.

  Angeles wasn't a simple man, for there were too many questions about his past that remained unanswered. If it were any other person, she would've assumed he was anally retentive, too self-absorbed with fame and fortune.

  Instead, there appeared more to him than met the eye, and she wasn’t certain what. It may have been because he exuded the oddest sense of underlying unease, a feeling shared by many.

  Eva maneuvered to her seat on the brightly lit set. Issuing a heartfelt groan of relief, she sank into the familiar chair, and tossed her notes to the side table. She pressed her thumb and forefinger to the delicate bit of flesh at the bridge of her nose, and wearily closed her eyes.

  Something told her tonight’s interview would prove difficult, and her scowl deepened, forming a deep v of aggravation. The elusive host was strangely appealing, filled with a secretive and unidentifiable dimension she couldn't fathom. In addition, she was wont to admit she suffered from a sudden and unexplainable chill every time Luke Angeles' face appeared on the small screen.

  Maybe it was the strange sexuality. He was stunning, but not by today’s standards. He was so deathly pale that the almost ethereal glow of his skin was nearly blinding. There was intensity to the grayness of his eyes that reached beyond the cameras and individually touched each person in the viewing audience. He had an old world quality to him, appealing in an eerie sense, and oddly enticing.

  Eva re-examined the situation logically and calmed her racing heart. She had to stop being fanciful, knowing he was only a man. Granted, he was involved in one of the oddest and most absorbing occupations existed in the modern world…Ghost Hunting.

  As if summoned by her thoughts, Luke Angeles entered the set. He was tall and graceful, and moved with languid ease. Her eyes roamed over his lean body, unable to restrain her slow and admiring whistle. High-tech digital television cameras didn't do this man proper justice, she thought. Stifling the urge to gape outright, she watched him approach under the fringe of her thick lashes, taking her time to slide an appreciative gaze over his tall form.

  He was definitely stunning. She couldn't fail to note his towering height when he walked toward her, his stride as purposeful and direct as his stare. Instead of appearing overly tall and thin, his body was toned and muscular. Not too much, Eva mused. Her eyes drifted over the finely honed muscles of his chest and arms, and lingered on the taut stomach evident beneath the snug turtleneck.

  An unfamiliar sensation trembled deep within her, coupled with lingering heat. She licked her dry lips as the blood began to course in her ears, and s
he lowered her fingers from her throbbing forehead. Her sensitive nose detected the most delicious scent rising from his flesh, a mixture of cold and crisp fall air, mingled with a decisive muskiness that was entirely male.

  If she wasn't supposed to touch him, then why did she suddenly feel she wanted to do more?

  It was a colossal effort to regain what little breath existed in her lungs. In a desperate attempt to still the maddening thud of her excited heart, she focused on his dark attire, noticing he was clad in his customary black trousers and corded turtleneck. The choice of clothing was a familiar ensemble, one he wore on every show, and she hadn’t expected any less. She assumed the fabric was used to offset the stark whiteness of his closely cropped hair and his remarkable skin.

  She nearly laughed aloud and threw the assumption to the wayside. Luke Angeles didn't need an excuse to draw attention!

  He came to a sudden halt. Eva eyes roamed up over his body before his pale features captured her dazed attention. She gazed into the cold slate of his stunning eyes and audibly gulped.

  He returned her stare. The coldness of his gaze warmed, causing the heat of an unfamiliar flush to rise in her cheeks. He appeared lost for words, and uncertain. She noticed his gloved hands remained at his sides moments before he afforded her the most civil of olde world nods.

  “Miss Eva Keyes.” Luke Angeles' voice was mysteriously deep and raspy. Meticulously pronounced, each syllable sent a scintillating chill down her spine. “It’s a distinct pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Thus, the angel of his soul shall see the light�

  An unfamiliar fluttering began in her chest and it didn't take long to realize her heart had accelerated to nearly unheard proportions. A distinct breathlessness assailed her as the limpid depths of his slate gray eyes captivated her, causing her to struggle to regain her voice. Despite the physical attraction she experienced, Eva suffered an unwarranted sense of déjà vu, and wondered if she’d met him previously.

  “Mr. Angeles,”�She responded in kind, her tone forced and civil. He remained where he stood, staring at her, but didn't extend his hand in greeting. His lack of action further accentuated the notated no-touching rule.

  Déjà vu her ass!

  Pulling her gaze from his face, Eva longed to kick herself. She wanted to scream at her own stupidity, believing she’d spent far too many hours watching that damned television program! If she’d met him before tonight, she would've remembered the event with absolute clarity. She wouldn’t forget a man as stunning as Luke Angeles, or his scintillating effect on her sex-starved nerves.

  “I feel I should say the pleasure is mine.”

  Dazed, she tried to focus on his face, and had to blink. She ran a trembling hand over the back of her neck, attempting to find something else to say.�

  Her reaction appeared to have the oddest effect on him. After viewing three complete seasons of available video of his television show, Luke Angeles did the one thing Eva had never seen him do.

  He gave her a sincere smile. His smile performed a miraculous transformation, lending a surreal quality to the coldness of the metallic color of his eyes.

  “You didn't believe I would make an appearance?”�

  “In reality, no,”�Eva responded, finding her voice. She shifted in her seat, trying to ease the uncomfortable ache in her lower regions.

  “I would never leave you stranded on a live interview, Miss Keyes,” he affirmed, his soft tone teasing. “My absence would make for bad publicity.”�

  “How considerate,” her brows lifted as she examined him. As suddenly as his smile appeared, it vanished.

  “It would've been horrid exposure for you, as well as my people.” He reverted to his overly sober self, all preconceived warm-heartedness vanishing.

  “It was gracious for you to think of possibility.” She couldn't contain her obvious bite of sarcasm and winced.

  “My absolute pleasure,” he seemed unconcerned by her tone, and continued to stare at her with his intriguing eyes. She shifted again, grateful the urge to pounce on him had ebbed, and the analytical part of her mind shifted into gear.

  “As I said, it was kind of you to show.” It was moments before her scheduled program would begin, and Eva was grateful he made an appearance. Out of the corner of her eye, she took note of the floor crew signaling the direction where her primary camera would be located.

  “Kindness had nothing to do with the forethought,” She sensed he was merely passing pleasantries with her as he moved to the chair across from her.

  “Still, Mr. Angeles,” she attempted to speak, her attention distracted.

  “I would prefer it if you would use my given name.”�

  …Luke

  While he took his seat and arranged his long length into a comfortable position, Eva shuddered. She glanced at the bright set lights surrounding her and wondered about the set's chill. Normally, she would've been overheated, the radiant heat from the overhead bulbs resembling to a sauna's intensity.

  Instead, her body quivered, attempting to keep warm. She lowered her eyes and repeated his name, unaware of the foggy breath escaping her. As the set became colder, she stifled another shudder. Her gaze focused on his expressionless features, and she experienced the most peculiar ringing in her inner ear. Somewhere in her conscious mind, she heard a male voice, whispering a suggestion she couldn't avoid.

  …Luke

  …perhaps it’s Lucas?

  …no, that ain’t right

  The voice within her head exhaled and could almost feel a whisper of chilled breath on her neck. She shivered again, nearly biting her tongue.

  ….Luke

  “Luke,” she reiterated the name mechanically. The voice in her inner ear stilled, satisfied she pronounced the name aloud. She was pleased the sounds halted, and then stifled an unhappy groan. Just as unexpectedly, the same whisperings grumbled anew.�

  …no, not Luke

  “Tell me, Mr. Angeles, does Luke stand for a much longer name?”�

  He focused on the play of lights beating overhead before shifting to the numerous television cameras. The floor crew appeared and there was a flurry of activity. Eva, after years of interviews, was immune to the noise.

  Instead, she wondered if she’d be required to repeat her question as she waited for his response.

  He rewarded her with an incredibly tight-lipped smile that barely succeeded in pulling at his mouth. The colorless shadow of his brows rose, and she blushed, grateful as a sound technician eased past. The tech dropped a lavaliere mike on the table closest to her guest. She noticed he appeared strangely agitated and eager to escape Angeles’ presence.

  “Do you want me to wear this microphone?” Luke questioned and picked the item up from the table, the equipment’s dark plastic a sharp contrast against his flesh.

  “Mr. Angeles, lav mikes are excellent devices for recording sound. Just about every news reporter on television uses them and their invaluable in the field,” she inserted with an edge of marked frustration. “Certainly, you wear them during your show?”

  “I'm afraid not, my dear,”� Luke rolled the ebony clip between his fingers.

  “Then, I might suggest their use,” she frowned again. “These mikes are small and clip unobtrusively onto your shirt or jacket. They’re available in hard-wired and wireless setups, so sound clarity is captured regardless of where you might be located.”�

  “I prefer to have my crew use a shotgun mike mounted on a boom.”

  It was clear he didn't like having the miniature device hooked to his collar, notwithstanding that the mechanism would be almost undetectable against his clothing.

  “If you use the lav mike, you wouldn't have to bring along extra crew members to operate the boom and monitor sound,”� Eva suggested. “Your show’s sound return would be far superior.”�

  He didn't respond, his attention intent on the mike. Purposely, he positioned the lav mike on the collar of hi
s turtleneck, clipping it into place. She watched while he skillfully situated the transmitter in the small of his back, before reclining comfortably into his seat.

  “Miss Keyes, at the risk of repeating myself, I prefer my own equipment,” he answered, although he didn't look at her. “There are some instances where I would prefer not to have every word leaving my mouth recorded.”�

  You’re a blasted stubborn man! She thought ungraciously.

  “In any case, Miss Keyes, I'm afraid I must have missed it,” he responded laconically, lifting one colorless brow at her sudden confusion.

  “Missed what?”�

  “I assumed some little bird flew by and whispered my name into your lovely ears,” he seemed to be mocking her, and she bristled.

  “Since you reminded me, I do believe you didn't answer my question,” she pointed out, not permitting him the slightest edge.

  He sighed. He seemed unaffected by the chill on the set, despite the fact the television crew shivered where they stood. He remained obviously patient, as if he were a parent dealing with an overly inquisitive child.

  “If you must know, my dear woman, Luke is a diminutive of my actual name,” he responded, reclining into the comfort of his seat. Effectively, he cut the questioning short, but Eva was stubborn.

  “What is Luke short for?”�

  “I feel we shall simply suffice with Luke,” his eyes lifted skyward again, appearing to beseech the heavens for escape. Once more, she experienced a startling sense of frustration, and wondered if he was avoiding her gaze.

  She sighed, knowing she was pushing the limits of the meeting. She didn't know why she bristled in his company. Whatever it was about him, she only had to suffer through an hour of the torture. Once the interview was over, she could go back to her normal life, watching him on his ridiculous television show. Pointedly, she stared at her notes, gathering her scattered thoughts.

  She was unable to focus on the scribbled words. Feigning studiousness, Eva dissected the thoughts flying into her mind, covertly watching the seated man. He spoke in an outdated manner, and his speech pattern reflected a European upbringing, one she hadn’t detected during her review of his show.