The Soul of Man

Jaye Michael

They’re out there, somewhere beyond the light. I can feel them, waiting for me to be alone; waiting to…

Got to run, hide. Can’t let them get me. But where? Where can I go? And how long will it be before they don’t care about other people seeing them?

Sitting alone in the booth in the furthest back corner of the bar, Janet cuddled her drink and stared at it as if it held all the answers she needed while trying to be invisible. It didn’t work.

“Excuse me.”

Janet jerked her eyes from the glass, fear in her eyes before realizing that they would not be so polite. It was a young man, maybe a couple of years older than her, no more than thirty at the most. He was fashionably dressed for the bar scene and had beautiful blue eyes. Janet couldn’t help herself as she briefly considered how easy it would be to lose herself in those eyes.

“Please. Whatever it is, you don’t want me. Not today. Not now.”

“How can you say that,” he asked undeterred. “You looked so alone, so sad just sitting there. I won’t ask you to do anything. I just get the feeling you could use someone to talk to, someone who will listen. I’m a surprisingly good listener.”

“Oh, what are you a priest or something?” She had wanted to just ask him to leave her alone again, but the words came out wrong. She’d meant to politely send him away, not insult him; or worse, intrigue him with the strange, aloof but needy looking girl.

“Actually, yes…well almost. I take my vows next month.”

Janet stared up at the man in disbelief. Do priests to be look like a young Adonis, gently, but clearly well muscled, with a firm, chiseled jaw, and eyes–those eyes… Shaking herself and forcing herself to look away, anywhere but into those beautiful limpid pools of blue, Janet glanced toward the entrance.

“Oh, shit.” Janet tried to fold herself back into the corner of the booth, positioning the young man between her and them.

“It’s not that bad,” the man laughed, misunderstanding her sudden expletive.

“No, it’s not you, the cursing I mean. It’s them,” she pointed and he turned. There were two men standing by the entrance, big men, dangerous looking men, scanning the bar, examining the patrons like a cop looking for a fugitive. You could almost see their hands hovering by their imaginary holsters in anticipation. One even had a long, red welt–or maybe it was a scar–across his cheek, it was hard to tell from the distance.

Before he had turned back to her, Janet had made up her mind. Janet quickly slid out of the booth and took his arm in hers. “Come with me. Now! I’ll do whatever you want, but not here, not now.”

And he came, or was dragged; it was hard to tell, not that Janet cared. He was between the men at the door and her. That was all she cared about just then. She could not let them see her. If they did they would take her and punish her. They would force her to change and then life would no longer be worth living.

The young man stumbled along beside her, serving his purpose as a human shield until they made it to the narrow hallway leading to the bathrooms and maybe, just maybe a back door.

“Shit.”

“That’s the second time you’ve said that,” the young man mildly noted. “You do know I’m from the folks that bring you the concept of, well, not cursing, right?”

“Yes, yes. Again, it wasn’t aimed at you,” Janet noted as she frantically searched for that hoped for back door, only to be disappointed to find it but with an emergency crash bar installed. If she used it, the alarm would bring her pursuers at a run. She couldn’t help herself as she nearly collapsed against him and started to cry.

“The men’s room has a large window and no bars. You can climb out onto the dumpster below.”

“I know, but I…”

“Sure you can. I’ll make sure no one else is in there and then I’ll let you in.”
Janet stopped crying and stared up into his face, questioning, wondering–could she trust him. She didn’t really know him. He was a stranger, but those eyes…

“Okay, but quickly. Please.” When he still didn’t move, she pushed him gently and said, “Please” again.

“Fine, but once we’re out of here we go somewhere and we talk. Promise?”

“Yes, yes, anything. But please. We need to leave now.”

He stuck his head into the men’s room and the moved inside. Janet watched the door slam shut and jerked. She was alone again and they were near, very near. She considered using the back door despite the alarm and had just turned toward it when the young man’s face reappeared.

“It’s clear. Come on.” His hand snaked out and grabbed her arm just below the elbow. She was dragged into the men’s room like she was a small child. Regaining her balance, Janet quickly stalked past him to the window and tried to open it, but it wouldn’t budge. She couldn’t help herself as she began to cry again, this time in frustration.

Gently pushing her aside, the man slid the window open and offered her a lift up. A quick glance toward the bathroom door where she thought she heard a noise and she stuck her foot into the proffered hand, pushing off and up onto the window sill. Just as she slid her feet out the window he spoke. “Bill. The name is Bill.”

“Thank you, Bill.” Janet smiled for the first time in a long while and jumped out into the darkness. She was half way down the alley when she heard a thump and running feet. Glancing back, it was Bill loping gracefully after her, closing the distance as if she were merely walking instead of running.

“Damn,” she grumbled as she stopped momentarily to kick off her heels and pick them up before she started running again. He was trotting along beside her and laughing before they reached the end of the alley.

“That’s three. We really must talk about your language, young lady.” But he was smiling as he said it, teasing rather than admonishing and Janet couldn’t help herself. She smiled back.

“It’s Janet and thank you.”

“Turn right at the corner. My car is just down the block. I’ll take you where ever you want. Then you talk to me like you promised.”

Slowing to a fast walk as they made the right turn, Janet stopped and leaned a hand on his well muscled arm–she could feel it through the fabric of his shirt–and slipped her heels back on. Sliding her hand around his arm, they strolled to a late model car about half way down the block and he held the door open for her.

“I thought priests take a vow of poverty?” she asked hesitating. Something didn’t feel right and the fear came roaring back. Was this a trap? Was he a collector too?

“Yes, we do, but my family has made no such vows. This is my father’s car. Like it?”

“It’s very nice,” Janet offered noncommittally, but still slid into the passenger seat and allowed him to close the door. Soon they were at the train station at Janet’s request. It was well lit and there were other people around. Besides, it was time to leave town again–before “they” found her and collected her.

After buying her a ticket–she didn’t ask, he just did it, putting his hand over Janet’s as she reached for her purse and handing his credit card over to the elderly gentleman behind the glass enclosed counter. It was so chivalrous Janet couldn’t help herself as she smiled yet again.

“That’s two,” Bill noted as he took back his credit card and handed her a ticket.

“Two?”

“Two times you’ve smiled. You have a beautiful smile.”

Flustered, Janet smiled yet again, not noticing him slipping a second ticket into his pocket as he led her to a row of benches in a well lit area near the center of activity, but far enough away from other people that they could speak without fear of being easily overheard.

“Now, you promised me. Tell me what’s wrong,” Bill encouraged, eyes softening somehow, making him seem even more caring and lovable.

They sat there, silently for several minutes as Janet warred with her conscience. Could she trust him and, if so, how much. She had just decided to tell him everything, even the part she never told anyone, trusting that that last secret would scare him away like it did everyone else, when her train was announced.

“Oh! Damn! I’ve got to go. I’m sorry, I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me and I wish I had the time to explain…explain everything, but I’ve got to go.”
She stood and he stood with her. Was he expecting a kiss? Why not? He deserved one, at least one. Heck, he had been so nice to her he deserved much more than just a kiss. Still, he was a man of the cloth, a priest, well almost a priest. Wasn’t he? Do you kiss a priest?

As Janet hesitated, face tilted upwards, unsure how to proceed; Bill chuckled and brushed his hand gently across her cheek. “I’ll take that kiss later, when we can do it properly. Right now, there’s a train to catch.” Dropping his hand from her face to her arm, Bill gently guided her toward the tracks and the waiting trains. In moments they were on the line waiting to hand the conductor tickets and Janet turned toward Bill. This time she was quite sure what she was going to do, potential priesthood be damned.

Reaching up to place her hands around Bill’s neck, Janet whispered, “Thank you. You may not believe me, but you’ve saved my life and I can never thank you or repay you enough.” Then, she slid against him and gently pulled his face down into the best kiss she could give him, meant to make him understand just how much she appreciated him…uh, his actions. Oh hell, who was she kidding, she’d meant him.

“Miss? Ticket please.”

Forcing herself to pull free from the kiss–this guy was way too good at kissing to be a priest Janet thought as she waved a hand in front of her face to cool herself–she turned to see the conductor, hand outstretched, a knowing smile on his weathered face.

“Ticket?” he asked again and Janet fumbled in her purse to dig it out and hand it to him.

“Thank you, Miss. Through this door. Sleeping cars are to the left, Miss.”

“Sleep…”

Bill reached past her and handed the conductor his ticket. “It’s a very long trip. You are going to want someplace to freshen up and train bathrooms are not the best places to do that. I got you a single room. My ticket is just for a standard seat. You promised me a story and I intend to collect.” Recovering his ticket, he escorted a bemused woman onto the train. He pointed out the sleeping compartment as they passed it, but rather than stopping there he led her to the dining car.

When they were seated and the waiter had left with his orders for them, he turned to her and gently suggested she might want to close her mouth again reminding her that his family was–well, this time he said “Rich. Very rich.”

As they ate, Janet told him her sad tale. A good job, nice apartment sans roommates at last, and a really wonderful life with good friends where she finally felt she was who she was supposed to be and then the recession had hit. First the job disappeared and then her friends as they all went off in different directions searching for jobs themselves. Finally, the benefits ran out and she was on the street–well, actually the YWCA and then a homeless shelter. That was where her clothes and the last of the personal possessions she’d been able to take with her had been stolen. Still, she’d kept the one thing that was most important to her, herself–but then the money ran out and she couldn’t even keep that. She knew she was in trouble when she saw those two men–the same two she’d seen at the bar–asking about her at the shelter. That’s when things had really gone to hell.

They wanted to collect her. Where ever she went they were always following, just behind her, never quite catching her, but never losing her, never letting her just live her life, such as it was.

In New York they had trapped her in an elevator. Luckily, someone got on the floor before they did and inadvertently escorted her out of the building and onto a crowded subway station where she had managed to lose them, albeit briefly. That was when she learned that they would not collect her while others were around and she started making sure she was always in a crowd.

San Francisco had been another close one. She had gone to the bathroom in Ghirardelli Square. It was the middle of the day and she was sure that they wouldn’t try anything; she hadn’t actually seen them for the two days prior and hoped that they had finally lost her trail. But the bathroom was in a quiet hallway, away from the crowds and just as she’d entered the ladies’ room she’d seen one of them enter the hall behind her. In a panic he’d stood by the mirror crying when the door creaked open and she swallowed her heart. Turning , she’d been surprised to see another woman instead of one of “them.”

The woman took one look at the tears and mascara running down her face and rushed to her. “Are those men hovering about the entrance to the restrooms bothering you, dear?”

When I had mutely nodded, too scared to even speak for fear she was with them, she had grabbed a walkie-talkie from her purse and spoken into it. “Base, this is one-niner-one. We have stalkers at the north bathroom. “

After listening for a moment–I couldn’t tell what the reply was through the static–she continued, “Two men. Tall, each is about six foot or six one. Black hair. One has a scar down his left cheek.”

More static.

“Roger that.” Putting the walkie-talkie away, she turned back to me. “Let’s get you cleaned up and presentable. Then, we can g to the office to give a statement and you can decide if you want to press charges.”

I blanched a bit at that. I couldn’t press charges. If I did, everyone would find out what I owed and the collectors would win. I might as well have been dead then. Luckily, she mistook my fear for something else.

“It’s okay, dear. You don’t have to press charges. You don’t even have to give a statement if you don’t want to, but it would be better if you did. You haven’t been beaten, have you?”

“N…no.”

“Good. Then we can just hold them on suspicion until they lawyer up. In the meantime, you’ll have a chance to get away. How does that sound?

“Better. Much better. Thank you so much.” I nearly wept with joy, but that would have ruined the makeup we had just repaired.

“It’s been the same everywhere I’ve gone. LA, Mobile, KC. I even got to Toronto for a while, but they still turned up. No matter how hard I try they always turn up. Always chasing me. I never get to settle down long enough to get a job, to even try to pay them back.

By now, the tears once again flowed freely and Bill was doing his best to comfort her, holding her hand across the table. It felt good. It had been a long time since someone had held her, cared for her, loved he… No. Don’t go there. It can’t last, Janet sighed with frustration.

“Why don’t you go clean up a bit?”Bill asked, pointing to the bathrooms at the end of the car. I’ll pay the check and meet you in the sitting car.”

How could I refuse my knight in shining armor? When I got out of the bathroom, feeling and looking almost human again, I wondered down the aisle until I found him, seated by the window about half way down the car where the seats changed direction so that he was facing toward me and back toward the diner car. His lap tray was down and two opened beers were on it, each with a small amount poured into a plastic cup.

“Ah, there you are. Beautiful as ever,” he greeted me while reaching over and handing me a beer once I was seated. I couldn’t help smiling, which caused a twinkle in those beautiful eyes of his, which in turn made me smile even more. God, I thought, I’m falling in love with this man. The thought instantly sobered me up. I could not afford to fall in love. Not now. Not while they were after me. My smile withered into sorrow and I looked away, hopefully before Bill could see it.

“That’s a truly horrible story, but those guys chasing you. They can’t just be bill collectors. There are laws. They can’t operate that way. If they are, must be the bill collectors from hell. What are they after, your immortal soul?” he asked.

He didn’t sound serious, but what could I say. They really were trying to repossess my soul, at least as far as I was concerned. I instead, I said nothing, just looked down at my untouched glass of beer. The silence quickly became uncomfortable.

“Oh, my Lord! It really is your soul they are after...”

Still looking down, I just nodded. What could I say? He was close enough to right that it was effectively true. I had to say something. I had to explain. Bill has been so nice to me. I couldn’t lead him on one second more. I looked up and opened my mouth to explain, but instead, my hands went to my mouth in fear. It was them. They were on the train. I could see them through the double set of doors connecting the dining car with the car we were in. One was talking to the waiter while the other was examining the people still in the dining car.

“What? Is it them?” He looked up and saw them. Even though he had never seen them at the bar, he seemed to recognize them for what they were. “Filth of Satan,” he muttered while pushing me out of my seat. “To the sleeper! Quick! We can hide you there. I’ll pretend it’s mine and send them away.”

Amazingly, we made it there without being seen. I hid in the small bathroom and waited. Shortly, there was a knock at the door to the compartment. I heard the door open and then I heard voices, but I couldn’t quite make out what was being said and when the door closed again, Bill must have been in the hallway as it was even harder to hear anything. I sat on the commode trembling in fear; holding my breath and waiting, waiting, waiting.

Just as I thought I would burst with fear the compartment door opened. Seconds later there was a gentle knock on the bathroom door and Bill quietly said, “You can come out now. Everything’s been taken care of.”

God, I really did love that man. I was going to give him the biggest, best kiss of his life. A quick check in the mirror to confirm that my makeup was okay and I threw the door open and threw myself into his arms.

But it wasn’t his arms. It was scar face that I was holding. Bill was beside him and the other collector was beside him. Before I could say anything, Bill spoke. “I know you thought I was about to go into the priesthood. That was not quite true, but who am I to worry about issues like truth or falsehood. I also told you I was rich. That was true, but you never asked where the family wealth came from. The truth is, my family is rich because we own that which you’ve repeatedly called your soul and I am about to enter an elite group. I’m about to become a collector and you're my first repossession. You've been on the run a long time, too long. I almost wish it wasn't company policy to do these repossessions out of sight of the general public."

With that, he took a strange looking tool from behind his back, a tool with which I was all too familiar. The train’s whistle hid the sound of my scream as the collectors held me while Bill pressed the tool to the back of my neck and my dreams, my soul, my female bodysuit was slowly and painfully ripped from my body.