The Soul Collector

by Quijas, Tamela

  Tonight, the birds were mute.

  As Eva reached the slow realization, her frown became more pronounced.

  She knew it was, approximately, eight in the evening. The neighbor living on the ground floor had been an antiques dealer in his younger years. After retiring, he kept a large assortment of Victorian clocks, each one meticulously tuned. The muted Westminster chimes would toll the hour, the quarter-hour, and the half hour.

  Tonight, she hadn’t heard a single note.

  The old brownstone seemed mysteriously vacant and hollow, as if it had slipped into an enchanted slumber.

  Self-consciously, her arms went about her body, and she hugged herself, wondering when Reese would make his shadowy appearance known.

  Eva shuddered again, a sudden and terrorized urge leaving her shaken. The sensation rose out of nowhere, deep and bone chilling with warning, sending hot and cold flashes over her. The skin on her scalp tingled uncomfortably, and her arms tightened.

  “Good evening, little girl.”

  The strong forearm crept around her from within the open doorway of her darkened apartment, causing Eva to gasp, stunned. She struggled to escape, but movement was impossible. Her arms were pinned at her side, making it futile to claw and punch and a shrill scream rose in her throat.

  The raggedly gloved hand, covering her mouth, cut the sound short. The pervasive odor of rot that emanated from the woolen material whisked the air from her. The arm encircled her more tightly and crushed her to the unwashed form.

  “Sweet little girls need to learn when it’s inappropriate to scream.”

  The voice was low, deep, and gravelly. Eva gulped, too frightened to move. Her heart rose to her throat as the ominous tones whispered over her flushed flesh, accompanied by foul-smelling breath. Her attacker buried his face in the cascade of her dark hair, the fetid odor of his body surrounding her.

  He was the culprit behind the stench filling her apartment. He had been inside the entire time, probably going through her stuff, and waiting for her return.

  The thought sickened her.

  “You really shouldn't make a sound, pretty one." The male voice continued roughly, his breath brushing over her cold cheek. “Screaming little girls get their lovely little necks broken.”

  Eva's breath skittered unevenly, and his arms tightened. The fear was debilitating, and she felt weak. Her stomach soured as she made a futile attempt to slip from his hold. A sob escaped her as he squeezed, his sinister laugh echoing into her ear.

  “Do you want to screech, little girl?”

  Eva didn't know how to respond. She could barely breathe and her heart rate increased to a deafening crescendo.

  “Nod your head, precious, if you're going to be a good girl.” He whispered, the tip of his tongue flickering over the shell of her exposed earlobe.

  Her eyes watered as she stifled a shudder, but she complied. The hand moved with deliberate slowness from her mouth. She made the foolish attempt to inhale, choking as she met with the putrid flow of air. She gagged and retched, her frantic eyes seeking a form of escape from her attacker.

  He pressed his face close, and Eva flinched as he rubbed his cheek against her hair, the gesture almost loving. She screwed her eyes shut and cowered, unable to escape, and hearing the deep breaths he inhaled while sniffing her flesh. The cold tip of his nose ran across her neck, and she shrank deeper into herself, cringing and holding her breath.

  “What do you want?” The words trembled with fear. She expected anything but the sound falling from him when his grizzled face scraped her nape.

  He giggled.

  “I want you, little girl.”

  Eva couldn't control her flinch. He intended to rape her, this dirty, stinking pile of wretched humanity. The litany of oh, God, oh, God, oh, God flitted through her terrorized brain.

  “Why me?” The question escaped her in a pitiful moan.

  “Oh, darling,” her assailant chuckled, the sound nearly childish in tone. “You don't understand, do you?”

  The litany spiraling in her brain came to a screeching halt.

  “I don't want your flesh, though you would be delicious.” A single hand shifted from her waist. The gloved appendage moved upwards and across the firmness of her breasts, concealed beneath the heavy weight of her jacket.

  Revulsion coiled in her stomach as the offending hand glided over her. She flinched, recoiling as the fingertips moved to the pert tips of her bosom before descending to the apex of her thighs. She couldn't call back her strangled cry or the tear sliding down her pale cheek as he intimately clutched her.

  “What do you want?” The words stuck in her throat. Her assailant pressed a kiss to the curve of her jaw, his lips dry against her skin while he kneaded her tender flesh.

  “I want what you can bring me,” he murmured, his words a silky whisper.

  “What?" She questioned roughly, stilling her gagging reflex. "What can I bring you?”

  “I want to play a little game.” He whispered with childlike buoyancy.

  “A game?”

  “Oh, yes, little girl.” He continued. “Can you guess what I need?”

  “Look,” Eva attempted to reason, another tear seeping free and trailing down her cheek. “I can't give you fame, if that's what you want. I'm not a celebrity.”

  “Ah.” He breathed the single word with a wealth of meaning, the stench rising from his mouth causing her to gasp. “I, least of all, don’t require fame.”

  He didn't want to violate her and he didn't want fame.

  What did he want?

  Again, his hand moved over her. The action was executed with deliberate slowness, as if he was savoring every inch. She stifled another gut-wrenching gag as he caressed her cringing flesh.

  “I want what only you can offer, Eva Keyes.” his low-pitched giggle filled her ears and he buried his face into the curve of her neck, inhaling her scent. His gnarled fingers slipped under the heavy wool of her jacket, seeking the roundness of her breast.

  A whimper tore from her as his hand squeezed at the tender flesh.

  “You stink of him!”

  Disgust filled the accusation. Eva flinched and felt the dryness of his lips return to her sweat-bathed skin. She inhaled lightly, attempting to gather her scattered and terrorized thoughts, nearly choking on another gag.

  “I don't understand.” She stifled her sob and bit her lip, the taste of blood prevalent.

  “Oh, darling,” he soothed, exhaling and flooding her lungs with his fetid breath. He kneaded her bosom with relentless fingers, the touch painful. He chuckled again, the sound deep and ominous. “You know what I want.”

  “Please.” The word escaped in a short-winded plea. Eva swallowed, desperately longing for him to release her.

  “Please?” The cruel action of his hand stilled. “Did you tell him, child? Did you tell him please when he had you, again and again?”

  She whimpered, unable to do much else. His words echoed and flowed around her, hypnotically pulling her into a deep trance. “Tell me, my dear, how many times did he have you?”

  ….Evie! �

  Eva felt the soft flutter and the pureness of chill air swirl through the building and up the staircase. She longed to shout for her brother and realized the action was futile, knowing there was nothing Reese could do to save her. He was a whisper of wind, and unable to protect her.

  …Evie?

  Her attacker's head rose from her neck. Eva was startled to realize her assailant had the ability to hear Reese's muted tones. He pressed a cheek to her face, his putrid breath washing over her again while he listened, silent and intent.

  �…Evie, get out!

  “Do you think we should we answer him, little girl?” �

  …get out! �

  She choked back a gasp but remained frozen. Her eyes were wide with fear as she attempted to focus into the inky darkness. A shimmering glow of light appeared as Reese faintly illuminated in the hall.

  “Do you wish to
tell him he’s late, child?” The figure rasped in a strangely familiar voice, the stench rising from his attire increasing. Eva's stricken eyes fastened to Reese and she shook her head, moments before being flung cruelly aside.

  She fell to the floor, landing hard as her heels gave out beneath her. She winced as her hip struck the tile and her knee twisted with the impact, but she was free of the threat holding her prisoner. Her vision adjusted to the darkness and the soft glimmer of light rising from Reese's bright figure granted her with the opportunity to see her assailant.

  The man, to her surprise, was elderly. Remaining in the open doorway of her apartment, a cynical smile brightened his scarred face. He smiled down at her, before executing a curtly bow. He rose with an elegant flair, before turning in Reese's direction. His arms spread wide, stretching the folds of his tattered coat aloft as he stepped toward the shimmering image of her brother. He executed a nearly childish hop and, as if he longed to break into a caricature of a dance, for her benefit alone.

  �…run! �

  “Who the hell are you?” Eva snarled and struggled to rise. .

  Her question stopped him. The light from Reese threw his stooped body into sharp relief, illuminating the tattered remnants of a well-worn and stained coat. A low rumble filled the hall and she realized it as the growing sound of mad laughter.

  “Hell?” He chortled, using the speedy movement of his hand to swipe the gray mat of hair from his face and leer at her. “Hell doesn't want me, little one.” �

  A great roar filled her ears as she saw the sepia blur of Reese's partial outline zip toward her. Eva felt the cold fill the hall, sweeping away the invasive stench. The stranger remained where he stood, appearing oddly mocking, as the ghost shot through him.

  Unmoved by the attack, a low chuckle seeped from him, and a chill of dread rippled through her. Reese shuddered before he shifted through the wall, disappearing.

  The laughter increased, becoming more mocking by the moment. The sound caused the bulbs in the wall sconces to relight, flicker, and emit a weak glow. The stranger step forward, his aged features vividly apparent. She flinched, recognizing the shadowy image revealed.

  “Julian,” the name slipped from her frozen lips.

  He awarded her with a salute, bowing deep at the waist before he straightened. Eva swallowed, her throat constricting as her eyes scanned his face.

  She gathered a semblance of a breath, her chest aching at the stench rising from Julian's ragged clothes. The smell of rotting flesh, alcohol, and stale smoke flowed about her while he shook his head, the long and yellowed strands weighing lank and heavy. Filthy, he reveled in his unwashed state.

  Eva gasped as Reese returned, the dark hollows of his eyes shining a vibrant red. He shot across the passageway with a great gust of chill wind, striving to strike at the figure threatening his sister.

  “Tell your worthless imp to leave.” Julian’s command was harsh, although the sickening reality of a derisive smile twisted his distorted features. Her hand crept to her throat as Reese passed through him, his contact lacking the intended effect

  …damn you! �

  “Ah, I’ve been damned far longer than you’ve existed.” He countered, lifting a finger to the corner of his mouth and scraping at a tooth with the broken tip of a yellowed nail.

  “Reese, go!”

  “Yes, my luscious dear, tell your irritating shadow to leave.” Julian turned to stare at the spectral shape. She watched as the intruder's eyes darkened, the discolored whites ebbing and resembling the eyes of the man she loved.

  “He should understand anything this spirit may do doesn’t affect me.” �

  Reese shot to her side, the normally calming essence of his shadowy form filled with immense fury. She understood the change in temperature meant he was attempting to materialize, desperate to protect her.

  �…Evie?

  “You can't help.” She wanted to sob, but wouldn't allow Julian to witness her terror. He fed on weakness and fear, and she'd provide him neither. “Find him, Reese. He'll know what to do.” �

  As Julian approached, Eva lifted defiant eyes, her expression mutinous.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  �There is the reawakening of the soul, often faint and unseen�

  Silence was a trade she learned after years of hiding in the shadowed streets. A person had to learn to be invisible, as silent as the night, to avoid attracting unwarranted attention.

  Her mouth puckered into a tight moue. He didn't know she was there, and she preferred it.

  She learned a lot by simply watching Luke Angeles.

  He stood in the glass walled lobby, rays of sunlight illuminating his face, seeming to wax all color from him. His dark attire added to the effect, lending him a ghostly touch.

  To her, he appeared paler, almost unholy.

  Deborah's brow furrowed and the wrinkles framing her eyes deepened. Long moments passed before a low chirp of laughter twittered from her mouth. She pressed her hands to her mouth, muffling her delight.

  “What do you see, Birdie?" �

  Ethan's voice sounded close to her shoulder and she startled but lowered her hands. Instead of answering, she pointed at the black garbed figure, afraid to speak. She knew the sound falling from her lips would have been a shrill screech of joy.

  Puzzled, the youth remained by her silence. Deborah warbled in his company, her chirping observations often causing him to chuckle, thus her nickname. If she was quiet, something profound had occurred, and he would respect her judgment.

  He followed the direction of her finger and frowned, wondering what held her so fascinated.

  “I don't have your ability, Birdie.” He lamented with a pitiful sigh, witnessing nothing beyond the ordinary. “I can only do the computer stuff.” �

  “Just barely,” a surly voice quipped nearby.

  The old woman started again, unaware of Gil’s closeness, and surprised he had crept up on her. Normally, she wasn't as lax as today, forgetting to watch the various people who milled in and out of the hotel. She’d been sidetracked, her attention more focused on the solitary figure of Luke Angeles.

  “I'm better than you.” Ethan couldn't resist the retort but kept the expected playful jab to himself.

  “Not by much.” Gil conceded with a grunt. He moved to Deborah's side, his stance protective.

  “What's up, Miss Deb?” He questioned, frowning. “Is there something wrong with the boss?” �

  She shook her head, her gray streaked hair bobbing from side to side. There was nothing wrong with the boss, as the boy phrased it, and a wide smile creased her face.

  Everything, in fact, was wonderful.

  “Would you trust me?” She questioned in her soft and warbling tones. Her eyes darted from one to the other, intently seeking an answer in their somber eyes. “I wonder if you would believe me if I told you?” �

  Ethan nodded slowly and waited for his partner’s response. Gil frowned, his brows drawing into a deep v and his jaw clenching.

  “We've seen everything possible, humanly and otherwise, in this line of work.” Brice’s whispered admission interrupted him.

  “What else is there to consider?”

  “Birdie sees something.” Ethan interjected in reverent tones.

  Buttoning his tweed jacket, Nikolai rolled his eyes and wondered why everyone was whispering. Deborah's sight wasn't anything, normally, that caused such a reaction among the investigators.

  “Tell us, Deb.” Brice insisted, his glasses sliding to the end of his nose, and smiled when she blushed.

  “I was watching Luke.” She whispered the admission, afraid of being overheard. Her face remained wreathed in a broad smile, and warmth filled the shadowed depths of her eyes. She spun about on her sandaled feet and crooked a beckoning finger at the men, before pointing at the head of NADGEL.

  Lucien hadn’t moved. His face was raised to the sunlight streaming through the towering glass walls and a satisfied smile curved his l
ips. He appeared, oddly enough, pleased with the world.

  “What about him?” Nikolai questioned, unable to distinguish any change in the man who led the hodgepodge team of misfits.

  “He glows.” �

  The comment's simplicity produced the desired effect, causing each member to look at her in disbelief. Pleased, she granted the men an immensely satisfied smile.

  “Birdie,” Ethan huffed, folding his arms across his chest. “I don't understand this whole aura thing. What does he glows mean?” �

  Deborah lifted her fingertips back to her mouth. She appeared to stifle the laugh threatening to burst free. It was obvious she was inordinately pleased by whatever Luke Angeles had accomplished.

  “She means what she said. Our fearless leader is glowing. He’s come up with an aura.” Brice provided. He frowned and, for once, he didn't push his lenses back to the bridge of his nose.

  “He has an aura?” �

  Nikolai frowned as Deborah nodded vigorously, her body nearly bouncing with the action. A dawning sense of enlightenment flooded him and a wry grin creased his stern features.

  “Luke possesses an aura.” He repeated dumbly.

  “So?” Gil shrugged, wondering about the hushed excitement rippling through the group. Four sets of eyes turned toward him in marked censure. He frowned back, stubbornly refusing to see the earth shattering significance behind the woman's observation.

  “You fool!” Ethan rasped, all sense of play vanishing. He scowled at his friend, his expression darkening.

  “He's not a fool.” Deborah chastised, lifting a soothing hand. Her touch was light as she smoothed her fingers over the young man's troubled features, attempting to lighten the pain the words caused. “He’s not a fool. He just doesn't understand.” �

  “I don't understand, Miss Deb.” Gil admitted pitifully.

  “I’ve never seen an aura over Luke,” she supplied, her hands fluttering as she lowered them. “Today, after Eva left, I ran across him in the hall. He was so sad, and he didn't want her to leave.” �

  She forced her hands to her sides, rocking side to side on sandaled feet as she recounted the events. She knew sorrow, having seen it in too many eyes on the street, but Luke’s sorrow was different. He gave the impression he was dreadfully alone in the world. Deborah understood heart-wrenching sadness, as well as she related to madness.