Perhaps that was why he avoided other collectors. Maybe he didn’t like facing the fact that he was different. He still cared about everything he gathered, empathy and emotions weighing down on him like chains. He was a young collector, by most standards and he most certainly appeared youthful. Physically he could be put at eighteen or nineteen years of age but chronologically he had been around since the dawn of the Roman Empire.
At last, Alec reached the room he was looking for and, when he peered inside he saw a small child nestled in a hospital bed. Her head was bare from the radiation that had failed to kill anything but her hope. Her skin was chalky and melted to her small, fragile bones and dark, bruise-like shadows dwelt beneath her sad, blue eyes. It hurt just to look at her.
Help me, she whispered, piercing the heavy silence of the room even though her lips didn’t move. She reached out to him with a distinct tremor to her hand. Her dry lips parted and she tried to speak, but no words escaped. Or perhaps there were no words to say. Instead, tears began to roll down her hollowed cheeks.
“Don’t cry,” Alec said softly. The girl’s mother didn’t stir in her chair. Alec’s words were for the girl’s ears and hers alone. Alec wondered how many days, weeks, and months that woman had sent praying from that chair. Or maybe she didn’t believe in God? Alec didn’t. He had seen too much pain for there to be anything more. No matter how many similar situations he’d witnessed, no matter how many aching souls he encountered, his proverbial heart broke for every single one of them. “There’s no more need for tears.”
Alec approached the girl with silent steps and as he gazed into her weary eyes, he caught a single tear that tumbled free from her eyes. And in that brief moment of contact her eyes faded and her body fell back onto the pillow as little more than an empty shell. Alec reached his hand into the girl and withdrew a ball of bright, coloured light. It had a fluttering beat to it, like the wings of a butterfly. He held the orb to the pendant he wore and he stored the light within it.
“Samantha?” the woman bolted upright in her chair as the machines in the room began to shriek at the absence of life. Alec watched her sob into Samantha’s corpse.
“She knows no more pain,” Alec said. His comforts fell on deaf ears. “That, at least, is something to be grateful for.” With that, Alec turned on his heels and strode out the door, Samantha’s soul hanging from his neck.
**
Alec was in no hurry to gather more souls, so he went for a stroll. It occurred to him that soul collectors really shouldn’t ‘stroll’ but he didn’t want to see kids in hospital beds or bodies in alleyways. Collectors had the ability to interfere in mortal matters, but they weren’t supposed to. For example, if Alec managed to locate a murderer, he could rip the man’s soul from his body, but he was prohibited from doing any such thing. His job was to clean up the mess the murderers made.
The autumn air was cool and crisp and touched Alec’s skin like the gentle stroke of fingertips. Some of the trees were already bare, their leafless arms and fingers reaching towards him as if they were at death’s door. Leaves crunched under his boots and despite the sound, nobody acknowledged his existence. Alec wasn’t lonely, however. He had souls around his neck to keep him company. If he held it to his ear, he could just faintly hear them whispering to one another, to themselves, to him.
People bustled about as it was a particularly busy street with corner shops and street vendors. How could he feel alone surrounded by so many? It’s impossible, Alec thought to himself, to feel alone. It’s impossible.
A small child stood at the trunk of a barren tree, tears tumbling down his cheeks as he reached futilely for the balloon entangled in the tree’s branches. If there had been a breeze Alec would have been able to move the balloon free without arousing suspicion. Alec’s gaze left the small child and rested on a couple standing on the street corner, their lips locked, completely oblivious to the world around them.
“Do you want a painting? Only five pounds apiece,” a voice asked. For a moment Alec thought that he was being addressed but as he turned to see the owner of the voice, he saw a young girl offering paintings to human passersby. Alec was struck by her beauty. He noticed her hair first. It was long and sleek and looked like lines of ink running down to her waist, contrasting with her porcelain skin. Though her eyes were what enraptured him, the deep green colours of moss and flecks of yellow were tainted with a sadness and knowledge of the world that seemed beyond her years. She couldn’t have been any older than seventeen and yet there was a sageness too her and her eyes looked like they had seen too much, yet not enough. She hugged her knees to fend off the cold; her petite frame seemed so fragile that Alec feared a strong enough wind would blow her away.
Alec wanted to know her more than he had ever wanted anything in his existence. Never before had he felt such a longing and it almost pained him to look at her. She wore baggy jeans that were tattered at the hem and ripped at the knees and her white, long-sleeved v-neck was spattered with paint. “Please? Wouldn’t you like a painting?” Splayed before her were a series of paintings done on canvas. They depicted flowers, rainforests, oceans and even people. They were beautiful, but no one wanted them. She was beautiful, but no one acknowledged her.
“Nora?” a man called. The girl, Nora, looked up and her angelic face contorted with fear as the man stepped out of his car and moved towards her. He wore a plane t-shirt and jeans, his white-blonde hair dishevelled, sticking out at odd ends as if he’d stuck his finger in an electrical socket.
“Leave me alone!” Nora warned as she frenetically gathered her paintings. “Stay away from me!
“You’re selling your paintings? This is ridiculous! Tell your mother she’s nuts. If you’re reduced to selling your art on the side of the road, how the hell are you going to eat?”
“We’re doing fine without you,” Nora snapped, resting her art comfortably on her hip like she would a small child. She looked at him with contempt and disgust. Even her hatred is beautiful, Alec noted. “With a distinct lack of bruises, I might add.” The man was taken aback and a look of hurt flashed across his face. Alec felt a sense of satisfaction.
“Come home,” the man said, grabbing her arm. “I want you to come home.”
“Let go, Connor!” Nora growled as she tried to prise his fingers from her arm. “You’re hurting me!” Rage broiled in Alec’s stomach, something he hadn’t felt in centuries and he pushed the man away from Nora. Connor staggered back, shocked.
“What the hell...” he trailed.
“Stay the hell away from us!” Nora shouted as Connor got into his car and drove off at top speed. “You can’t have me anymore,” she whispered to the rear of the car as a lonely tear rolled down her face.
“Are you ok?” Alec asked, knowing she wouldn’t hear him. He longed to reach out and touch her, to hold her and say it would be ok. But he couldn’t reveal himself to her. It was against the rules.
