Paul Kohler - The Borrowed Souls, A Novel

Paul B. Kohler is the author of the highlyacclaimed novel, Linear Shift, and the remarkable novel series, TheHunted Assassin. Aside from his longer works, a number of his shortstories have been included in various anthologies. His latestshort,Rememorations, has been included in The ImmortalityChronicles - a Top 5 SF Anthology and Hot New Releases. Rememorationswas also nominated for Best American Science Fiction.

When not practicing architecture, Paul workson his writing. He lives in Littleton, Colorado.

To learn more about him and his books, visit www.Paul-Kohler.net.

The Borrowed Souls, A Novel is the combination of seven independentlypublished parts of Jack Duffys adventure through the afterlife. Its aspeculative glimpse of what might be once we pass on to the nextworld. Ive used my creative license to develop a story that exploresthose possibilities. Please consider that when reading the followingstory. But, more importantly, enjoy the read!

For Alicia

Everything was a blur, and I had to force my eyes to focus on the handtouching my shoulder. With effort, the watch on his wrist became clear.It read 1:45. My eyes followed up his arm, to his shoulder, and finallyto the person the hand belonged to. The face was covered by several daysof growth, and he had crystal-clear eyes.

Hey, buddy. Last stop, he said, standing above me.

It took me a few moments to realize what was going on. Was this heaven? Or was it hell? I tried to stand up but slumped back again.

Easy now. Had a few too many tonight? asked the driver.

Uh, I is all I could form in my mouth.

Dont worry, buddy. Ive been there before. You know Im supposed tocall the police when I find a drunk on my bus, but you look harmlessenough. Lets get you out to the bench and you can take your time wakingup. The driver pulled me up and led me down the aisle of the bus. Hehelped me down the steps and over to the bench.

Bidding me farewell, the bus driver climbed back in and drove off. Iglanced around but nothing looked familiar. To say I was feeling a bitdisoriented would be an understatement. As I sat on the cold steelbench, I tried to piece together what might have happened to me. Ilooked at my watch: 1:53 a.m. Where had the time gone? All I couldsurmise was that I was extremely late getting home from work and thatCyndi was probably worried.

Despite my throbbing head and the strong desire to curl up on thebus-stop bench to take an extended nap, I forced myself up and began tostagger down the block. As I neared the corner, I looked at the streetsigns. Neither of the cross streets sounded familiar. I looked in allfour directions, wondering which direction home was, and chose the onethat looked the most promising.

As I slowly stumbled along the vacant sidewalk, my mind began to retracemy evening. For the life of me, I couldnt even remember even getting onthe bus. The last thing I could remember was leaving some caf afterwork. I tried to remember who I was with and kept coming up blank. Imust have been with Cyndi. But every time I thought of my wife, I beganto feel anger creep into my head. Where was the anger coming from?

After another block of foreign surroundings, I realized I wasnt alone.With my head clearing more by the minute, I slyly glanced back over myshoulder and noticed a man. He was older, dressed in a tan suit with awhite fedora. He followed me, keeping pace about a half block behind.Looking forward again I mumbled, Cyndi, where the hell am I?

Speaking her name jarred something loose in my head, and the memoriesfrom the past twenty-four hours began to resurface. A feeling of lossand despair rushed in, but I could not pinpoint the reason behind it. Ifelt my pulse rise, anxiety shot to the surface, and my pace quickened.I looked back at the man following me, and he also increased his pace.Not wanting to discover his intentions, I turned the corner, and, onceout of sight, I sprinted to the nearest alley.

Ducking into the darkness of the backstreet, I stood in the shadowsuntil the man passed by. He never did. I waited several minutes before Idecided to move, and just as I stepped away from the dingy brick wall, avoice came from behind me.

Feeling a little lost, Mr. Duffy? The voice was little more than aharsh murmur, but the echo in the alley was thunderous.

I spun around, and the man was standing calmly in the alley. Next to thebrightness of his hat, the color of his skin paled in comparison. Hiseyes were deep and sorrowful as he looked upon me with determination.

Come again? I asked.

Its completely understandable. Riding the M-5 for six hours nonstopwould certainly cause bewilderment for anyone, said the mysterious man.

Dumbfounded, I stared at the man. He was a stranger to me, but there wassomething about him that seemed familiar. Im sorry, have we met? Youseem to know me by name and know where I was tonight.

Weve not been formally introduced, but rest assured, Im not here toharm you. What do you remember from last night? he asked.

I tell ya, not much. I woke up on the bus, and all I can remember isleaving a caf sometime after work. The rest of my day is a blur, Ireplied, rubbing my temples to soothe an ever-present headache.

I sometimes find that starting at the beginning of the day is best.Shall we have a seat and begin? asked the man as he led me across adimly-lit street to a park bench that I hadnt noticed before steppinginto the alley. As unusual as the situation was, it seemed like theright thing to do at the time, so I didnt protest.

Now then, Mr. Duffy. What was the first thing this morning that you canrecall? asked the man.

Wait up. Seeing as you know me, maybe you should at least tell me whoyou are, I stated, hoping to glean as much information about thestranger as I could.

Come now, Mr. Duffy. You know who I am.

Sorry, but I really dont. You seem familiar, but I dont remember evermeeting you.

Oh, that is quite correct. Weve not been formally introduced.

Then what do I call you?

Whatever you wish, he said smiling.

I dont understand. Havent you got a name?

I do, but it doesnt matter what you call me.

We sat on the park bench for several moments in silence; all the while Iwas racking my brain as to why the last twenty-plus hours were missingfrom my memory.

As I mentioned, it might help starting from the moment you woke thismorning, or yesterday morning, rather.

The stranger held his closed hand toward me, and when he opened it,there was a large gold coin in his open palm. Take this coin, Mr.Duffy. Take it and turn it over in your hands. Examine the two faces ofthe coin, and try to focus on the moment you woke.

I took the coin and did as he asked. The coin was quite old, thesurfaces worn nearly smooth. I could just barely make out the words, InGod We Trust, but nothing more. I turned the coin over, and as I did,my morning came flooding back to me.

I rolled over and glanced at the time: 6:43 shone in amber on thenightstand. I reached over and clicked off the alarm. Isnt it strangehow one day you can set your alarm and wake up moments before it goesoff, but another day you forget and you wake an hour late?

Not wanting to get up, I rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling.Why did life have to be so demanding? Couldnt I just lie in bed andwaste the day away? As I lay in silent contemplation, Cyndi began tostir. I looked over. Her eyes were closed tightly against the rays ofmorning sunshine beginning to peek through the drapes. I often wished Icould be as content with my life as she was with hers. Rarely didanything faze her happy persona.