The Soul Collector

Chapter FIVE

Guide me, my dearest angel, away from the darkness governing my life�

Eva was frightened.

Grudgingly, she admitted to suffering from an uncomfortable sense of apprehension and anticipation. The latter coiled deep inside of her stomach and made her nauseous. The queasiness accelerated as she approached the lobby doors of the ultra modern apartment complex. She wasn't able to pinpoint the precise reason behind her misgivings, though she did arrive at a conclusion.

Either the foolishness of her actions, or the individual residing in this stylish abode, set her on edge.

Eva accepted one indisputable fact. Two days earlier, she had made a fool of herself, believing she asked the one question on everyone's tongue. However, she was wrong. She had demonstrated an absolute lack of the professionalism, and jeopardized her good name…all because of one man!

Her conscience was suffering a slow and certain death. Over the past twenty-four hours, guilt ate away at her. Worse, there was the ever-present tone of his censorious voice echoing in her mind.

Why, Miss Keyes, what a unprofessionalquestion.

It had been during those long-suffering hours before dawn, while tossing and turning, that she had an epiphany. Flying from her bed, she flicked on the lights in her apartment, frantically searching her notes. Somewhere in the crammed files, there was an obscure address.

Eva hadn’t felt the slightest twinge as she planned her next move, committed to do the one thing she had never done in her lifetime.

She would make a personal appearance at Luke Angeles' doorstep and apologize. It was the least she could do, and hoped the attempt would be accepted.

In any case, her conscience demanded mind-numbing and dreamless sleep.

Her decision etched in her mind, she seized the opportunity to visit the mystifying man. She provided the attentive cab driver with the scribbled address, shut the car door behind her, and leaned back in the seat. Her nose wrinkled at the vehicle’s unappealing odor, but she forced her busy mind to relax. Her tension seeped away as the vehicle picked up speed, and she gave the cabbie credit as he maneuvered through New York City's evening traffic.

She peered out of the cab window, relishing the approach of fall. Central Park was gorgeous this time of year, the season evident in the color of the leaves, the towering trees transformed into a multicolored quilt of reds, browns, and gold.

Fall was, indisputably, in full swing.

Eva snuggled deeper into her jacket, the evening chill more pronounced. As the streets sped by, she recognized sites she hadn’t seen in years.

Wonders wouldn't fail to cease, she thought, viewing the area. The host of Those Among Us just happened to have an apartment in her old neighborhood!

Old wasn’t the correct word, and an unexpected twinge of homesickness plucked at her heartstrings. There was still a scattering of the older residences, viewable on the fringes of the modern structures. Sleeker and far newer apartments replaced a majority of the pre-Depression Era row houses, which had filled these streets for decades.

The cab came to a slow halt before one of the blindingly modern buildings. She peered out of the window, absorbing the full glory of the four-story facade. The building was far too contemporary, she thought, and her lips tightened as she paid the driver.

She shivered, and then grimaced. Suffering from a bone freezing iciness for the past few days, she wondered if she were catching cold. Eva pulled her coat tighter about her and winced. She had scarcely stepped foot on the conspicuously vacant sidewalk when she became aware of the incessant hum growing in her inner ear. Her frozen fingertips longed to cover the sides of her head, wishing she could drown out the sounds, but knew the action would be futile.

She couldn’t escape the murmurings, for they filled her mind every waking hour of the day.

Eva rubbed the back of her neck with cold hands, frustrated as the low-pitched buzzing sound evolved into more definable series of words. The figments of phrases caused her to pause, brooding. Many of the glitches she recognized were teasing, laughing, before evolving into half-hearted dictates.

Chilled to the bone, she focused on the shining glass double doors of the apartment building. Her hands dropped to her sides as she passed a judicious eye over the building's impressive facade.

The unexplainable sense of déjà vu and the strange voice in her head could only be associated with one individual, Luke Angeles.

She paused, knowing Luke Angeles wasn't correct. A ghostly voice had whispered the man’s name into her ear a few nights past.

Lucien…

Lucien, what?

Eva could bet a month's paycheck everything about him was false. For hours, she scanned various sites on the web, seeking him on every search engine, unable to uncover any information about the ever-elusive man.

In other words, he simply didn't exist.

Taking a deep breath, Eva approached the structure. She pushed the glass doors open and stepped into welcoming warmth. Past the entryway, a hulking figure blocked her path. She paused, patient as he rose from behind the streamlined desk situated between two elevator doors.

With a great show of his impressive size, he rolled his broad shoulders and Eva deduced the man as an off-duty officer. His primary profession was apparent by the way he stood, as if he were prepared to issue a command, or obey an order.

Obviously, he was pulling in a bit of extra cash by clandestinely moonlighting as security/doorman to the plush apartment complex. She couldn't knock him. Times were rough for everyone and a living was just that, a living.

The door attendant gave her a liberal once over. His features darkened perceptibly and his eyes, beneath the nearly weight of bushy brows, narrowed. At first, he mentally judged her. There had to be numerous individuals seeking entry to the building, and she wasn't one of the regulars.

“May I help you?”

“I'm here to visit Mr. Angeles,” Eva didn't relish having to exchange words with the intimidating figure that easily had a hundred pounds to his advantage, and the protective attitude of a pit bull.

“Mr. A?” He paused, fascinated.

“Yes, Mr. Angeles.” She nodded her head, granting him her widely photographed Eva Keyes smile. His glowering expression lightened and recognition flooded his eyes before he issued a low and appreciative whistle.

“Hey, you’re that interviewer from TV! Don't tell me! Don't tell me!” His hands flew upright, broad palms facing her while he struggled to remember her name. The pit bull impression immediately vanished, and she found herself likening him to an over-eager, over-sized bull terrier. “You’re that lady from Keyes to New York! You’re Eva Keyes!”

“Yes, sir,” she responded dutifully, her smile tight.

“Eva Keyes!” Another appreciative whistle followed her name. He came around the desk and approached her, his hand outstretched in greeting. “The wife is not going to believe this one!”

“The one and only,” she affirmed.

“The great Mr. A lives in the building I work in, and the famed Eva Keyes is visiting. Now, if that just doesn’t take all!”

Eva found her hand enveloped in his strong grip and winced as the limb was vigorously pumped up and down. Dimly, she began to have second thoughts about approaching the most popular paranormal investigator in the world on his home territory. To add to her worries, she wondered if there was any chance she’d stay off the front page of the morning papers. Her personal visit with Mr. A would be pricey tabloid fodder, and the publicity would be her fault.

As the door attendant released her hand and returned to his station, Eva waited while he continued to prattle on, taking a moment to sign an autograph. After what seemed an eternity, he recollected his duties. He pressed an invisible button on his computer keyboard, summoning the ever-elusive Mr. Angeles' attention.

“Hey, Mr. A, you would never guess who's here to visit you!”

There were two faint words uttered on the other end, the exact phrase as indecipherable as the muttered tones filling her ears. Whatever was said, the security guard guffawed uproariously. Tears were evident in his eyes while he choked out his response.

“What do you know, Miss Keyes?” He asked quizzically, not really demanding an answer. He continued to chuckle as he buzzed her past the door at his side. “Our Mr. A is a ghost hunter and mind reader! It seems he's been waiting for you.”





***

She stared fixedly at the closed door until she swore she detected her distorted likeness in the buffed wood. She huffed, straightening her shoulders and shook her head. She wondered if her uncertainty was as obvious as her wavering reflection displayed.

It was too late to turn around, and running would make her appear a bigger fool. Struggling to regain her composure, she grasped at the ornate silver knocker and dropped it. She flinched as the sound reverberated down the lengthy, vacant hall.

Eva’s heart accelerated to a maddening tempo and she questioned her sanity. She didn't know if an apology would really matter. She took another fortifying breath, made a move to reach for the knocker again, and nearly leapt out of her stilettos as the door swung open.

The towering man, whose image tormented her for the past few days, stood before her. As usual, he wore nondescript black, but she recognized a difference in his clothing. He lacked the thickly corded turtleneck and, instead, wore an expensively tailored silk shirt. Eva stifled a gulp, her eyes fastening on the top series of buttons that remained agape, exposing the barest bit of pale skin.

She colored painfully, and forced her gaze to his face. He looked her over, his gaze lingering on the heavy material of her winter coat and the ridiculous height of her shoes, and his interest seemed to increase.

Ever sedate, he didn't say a word. Instead, his attention flickered past her. For a second, she imagined he glowered at something just over her shoulder and she had the overwhelming urge to greet whoever was standing behind her.

The expression changed, becoming one of weary resignation. Eva straightened her shoulders, stifling a bone-chilling shiver. Once more, she felt hot color rise to her cheeks as his gaze flickered before settling on her eyes, causing her breath to catch and her heartbeat to stutter.

Her mind reeled. Eva inhaled a desperate gulp, the thudding of her heart filling her ears, realizing he had one hell of an effect on her senses. Despite years of professional training, she feared she’d greet him with nothing more than a babbling stammer. Despite the cold and lack of sleep, he left her speechless. She didn't understand how she could become such a bumbling and unprofessional mass of femininity with one look.

So much for the expensive journalism degree!

A flurry of vivid images flooded her, vibrant and heated, as she inhaled the delicious scent he exuded. Trying to erase the thoughts flitting through her mind, she scowled. She hadn't considered the possibility that it was insatiable lust keeping her awake at night.

Eva shifted from foot to foot. Vainly, she attempted to phrase a greeting, her mouth conspicuously dry. She focused on the curve of his jaw, the unbidden idea of how he would taste suddenly filling her thoughts. She ran her tongue over her lips, incapable of forming a coherent thought.

Instead of waiting for her to create the worst salutation of her lifetime, Luke stepped back. He opened the door wide, a soft glow spilling into the hall. He swept his hand before him, the antiquated gesture welcoming her inside.

Hesitantly, she stepped forward then paused, her bewildered eyes trying to focus after the blinding effects of the bright hall lights. As she became aware of her surroundings, she found his apartment was large and the décor surprising.

There was a wealth of expensive black leather and the brilliant shine of chrome and glass. His choice of furniture would have pleased a Swedish designer, though she noticed an obvious starkness to the room. There wasn't a single bit of artwork or photograph anywhere. The walls were excruciatingly bare, except for one overwhelmingly large object.

A sofa size, gilt framed mirror filled an entire wall, the item far too heavy to hang. The ornate Victorian antique remained propped against the empty wall, opposite the balcony windows that permitted a lofty view of the streets. The faintest glint of sunlight beamed through the window, varying hues of purple, red, and orange reflecting in the tarnished glass. It was a breathtaking image for late fall, and she remained at frozen attention in the middle of the room, struck dumb by the beauty reflected.

“Evangeline.”

The soft pronunciation brought her crashing back to reality. He uttered her name in the most unusual of fashions, the slightest evidence of an accent in each carefully enunciated syllable.

“Will you allow me to take your coat?”

Flustered, Eva snapped her gaping mouth shut, and shrugged out of the heavy material. She cursed herself a hundred times for being a bigger fool than what she already was in his presence. Lust, pure and simple, she attempted to reason and had to restrain from shaking her head. She preferred her men dark and sultry and couldn’t understand her sexual attraction to Luke Angeles, a character nearly ghostlike in appearance!

“How do you know my name?”

He granted her the smallest of smiles. “A little bird flew into my ear and whispered the secret.”

Eva wanted to stomp her heel on the butter colored wood floor. He had to be mocking her, repeating the same phrase he uttered at the studio.

Deciding to remain quiet, she watched him place the heavy material over the back of the leather sofa. He waved an imperious hand in her direction, wordlessly indicating a seat. Eva looked about and ran her hands uneasily over her skirt and wished the betraying color would leave her cheeks, since she didn't enjoy feeling like a bumbling teenager.

Uncomfortably, she perched on the couch, the black leather upholstery protesting loudly. She bit her lower lip and glanced about the room, the dim sunlight fading to the beginnings of twilight. In the glass of the mirror, she watched her host move into the streamlined kitchen. His actions were easy to view, since the two rooms were part of a more open and airy floor plan. Silent, he removed a cup from the carefully arranged assortment in the cabinet nearest him. There was a faint flicking sound when he switched on an appliance, and Eva inhaled appreciatively as the heady aroma of rich coffee filled the apartment.

She didn't have long to wait. On the otherwise spotless and barren glass table situated before her, he strategically placed the large mug of the steaming brew. Eva noticed he hadn’t brought one of his own before occupying the vacant seat across from her.

It was dreadfully unfair, she mused. The self-same leather never protested as he slid into the modern comfort.

She hoped her hand wouldn't shake overly much as she took the cup. Pleased when it didn't, Eva took a long and fortifying sip, allowing the strong brew to calm her scattered nerves. Warmth flooded her body, chasing away a bit of the chill had been so persistent the last few days. Satisfied, she placed her cup on the table, careful not to mar the spotless glass.

“Is the brew not to your specifications?” He questioned softly. “I assumed you prefer your coffee with a splash of hazelnut cream and two sugars.”

“N…no,” she hurried to respond, stuttering. Her frown deepened as she realized he had made the coffee precisely to her unspoken preferences.

Damn, he was going to make her wrinkle long before her time!

She wasn't aware the thought made her scowl more until he dealt her a slight grimace.

“I assume I frustrate you.”

Embarrassed, another rush of heat rose in her cheeks and she wanted to curse. Eva didn't know how long she could endure him staring at her through those enigmatic eyes.

“Mr. Angeles,” she longed to get to the point. She didn't want to have to make a larger apology than what she felt already necessary, and she was eager to leave.

“My name, as you're aware, is Lucien.”

His interruption was smooth and her attention fell on his face. His pale skin appeared more pronounced against the chair's black leather, his flesh a beacon in the evening lighting. Eva wondered if he’d purposely used the upholstery and his attire to emphasize his astonishing skin and hair.

She winced, recalling the tabloid whispers. Maybe, each suggested, ghost hunting was the best occupation for someone truly a vampire. She swallowed audibly and pondered her stupidity. First, she was thinking lustful thoughts, then apparitions, followed by vampires. Her embarrassment grew to an overall height, and she looked away.

“Lucien,” Eva began, clearing her throat. “I came to apologize.”

There, she said it.

“Apologize?” He appeared baffled, as if granted him something unexpected. At least, that was what Eva hoped. She hoped, as well, he wasn't going to make her apology more difficult.

“Yes, apologize,” she reiterated, the word more painful than she cared to admit. “I acted unprofessionally the other night.”

“Ah.”

The single word held a wealth of meaning. His hand lifted from the arm of the chair and stroked at his chin. Lucien seemed to mull over the words, unaware his hands were bare. He followed the direction of her eyes and, with a self-conscious air, lowered them back to his side.

“I may have offended you and I wanted to clear up any misunderstanding that may have occurred.”

“You didn't offend me.” His eyes narrowed and he seemed uncomfortable, unable to find where to place his hands on his lap. Instead, he clutched them together, his grip brutal.

There was an underlying intensity in his stare and, nervously, Eva shifted in her seat. The leather protested loudly and the incessant buzzing sound returned to her inner ear, reminding her of the innocuous whispers of several voices. She lifted her icy hand and pulled at her burning earlobe, hoping to reduce the drone.

“Still,” she attempted to continue, her words sounding distant.

“You asked a question,” his eyes never left her. “In reality, I avoided providing you with a response.”

The deep hum became louder and Eva felt strangely lightheaded.

“Do you wish for an answer, Evangeline?” He asked smoothly.

Despite the madness taking over her mind, the insatiable investigative reporter within her rose. She nodded, lowering her hand back to her lap.

“We enter this world with what we consider a conscience,” he began easily. “We presume our conscience is the deciding factor directing our actions in our lives. Do you understand?”

She nodded again, wondering where he was leading.

“Man's conscience has been portrayed as the miniature angel who sits on the right shoulder, while the devil lingers on the left.”

Faintly, she recalled the old Saturday morning cartoons from her childhood. In those brightly colored cells, there had been the consistent battle portrayed of the human will, as represented through the angel and demon theory.

“My question to you, Evangeline, centers on the conscience,” the briefest flicker of intense pain filled his placid features. Her eyes dropped as his hands lifted, and he used the pressure of one thumb to absently stroke at the palm of the other.

“What?” She asked, thinking he referred to her own guilty conscience.

“Let’s take the subject of twins into consideration. Although raised by the same parents, can humanity explain why one child's choices appear driven by the devil’s whispering?” He asked this in a foreboding tone, one that sent chills rippling down her spine. “While the other sibling's actions border on extreme righteousness.”

“There's always one bad apple in every family,” Eva shrugged and repeated the archaic adage, her attention focused on the painful way he ground his thumb into his hand. The limb aggravated him, if his actions were anything to go by.

“That may be the common assumption,” he gazed directly at her and she fidgeted. “Tell me, Evangeline, how could a single child be so corrupt?”

Eva repeated the shrug, unable to give him an explanation.

“The conscience, in effect, is not merely a device that determines a person's moral sense and scruples. I’ve arrived at the understanding right and wrong is decided by the spirit chosen as guide.”

“You’re presuming our actions are governed by a spirit guide?” She frowned again and wanted to curse at the action.

“Perhaps I should suggest a soul.” She remained silent, watching him. “If a person wins the proverbial luck of the draw at creation, he’s granted the guiding soul with the wings of an angel.”

“In other words, if you lose, the soul designated to suffer eternal damnation will cloud and direct your thoughts?” She shook her head in incredulity and began to think the host of Those Among Us was stark raving mad.

“You don’t trust me?”

“You can assume what you want, Mr. Angeles,” she stated, her lips pursing with the action. “The question I asked was if you had the ability to see ghosts.”

Lucien's hands returned to the arms of his chair. Although his expression remained calm, there was a slight darkening of his eyes. He stared at her until she squirmed, his thoughts unreadable.

“Are you still wondering if I have the ability?” He asked with deceptive softness, his eyes seeming to darken more.

“Yes, I do.” She responded, unable to prevent herself.

“Let me assure you I do, Evangeline. I’ve born witness to the images of the dead every single day of my life.”

She couldn't contain her disbelieving snort.

“You asked and, off the record, I’ve provided you the truth,” he shrugged. He didn't appear pleased with her reaction, only resigned. “Whether you believe is of little importance.”

There wasn't any doubt to it, she thought with exasperation. He was stark raving mad!

Ungraciously, she rose to her feet. Her coat forgotten, she left her nearly untouched coffee behind, and moved toward the door. Her vision blurred as she reached for the knob, desperate to escape the apartment.

Abruptly, she stopped, her fingers lingering on the cold metal. The ever-present hum grew, and she swayed drunkenly where she stood.

The drone dissipated, changing to whispering intonations, and the hazy words became clearer. There was a pronounced heaviness to the fractured phrases, which asked her to stay.

Eva turned to Lucien, who rose noiselessly from his seat. As her eyes swept the living room, he moved to stand before the large mirror. She took a cautious step forward, doubtful. She wanted to extend a hand in his direction, thanking him for tolerating her presence.

The words hung on her lips, unspoken as her attention became riveted to the mirror.

Within the tarnished depths, there appeared the faintest blush of a distant ray of light. The shiny luminance shivered for a moment, wavering like a ripple in a pool of still water. Eva was drawn toward the image, pulled by unseen hands as the glow gave way to a magnificent and blinding shade of white light.

The beat of her heart increased to a deafening crescendo as she stepped closer. Captured by her curiosity, her mind registered the shine couldn't have been issued from the remnants of the fading autumn sunset.

His attention was concentrated on the wavering figure of the young man who stood at Eva’s side…

A man who wasn’t in the room.