The Soul Collector

Chapter SIX

Trust in the belief that there is more to this world than what your eyes can see�

“I don’t know what your game is, or how you managed this, but you're pissing me off!” Eva snapped and turned away, her irritation obvious.

“My intention is not to piss you off, as you so eloquently put it.” Lucien remained where he stood, his arms folded across his chest. Despite his calmness, his eyes narrowed to the point she couldn't detect the color

“Where did you stash them?” She stalked toward him, searching the ceiling for recessed lighting. “I know you used a camera to make me see what I did!”

“There aren't any cameras.”

She harrumphed rudely, her disbelief obvious. Her behavior wasn’t well mannered, but she was past caring. Eva guessed her apology and manners flew out the window the moment the mirror began to glow.

“The ratings for your show are off the roof,” her low tone held unmistakable sarcasm. “I don't think it's necessary to pull some elaborate stunt to get my attention.”

“Let me to assure you, dear lady, I'm not one who would resort to common tomfoolery.”

God, he was irritating!

“I don’t know how…”

“It isn’t in my power to reveal what’s already there,” he interrupted smoothly.

“It has to be! Either you used some craftily thrown switch, or you have equipment operating by voice command. I'm certain you got one of your guys to rig the gear!”�She shouted, trying not to teeter on her heels before spinning away.

Eva went to the mirror and plucked at the gilt frame. Cursing beneath her breath, she pushed the object, unable to budge it. The blasted thing was too weighty, and she understood why it remained propped against the wall!

“Okay, I figured this out,” she grumbled and stepped away, noticing the reflected male images hadn’t moved. Not that the one would, she rationalized, since it lacked the lower limbs needed for the action. “I imagine you’ve a damn camera in the mirror! You used some sort of fun house style trick, didn't you?”

“You think I use tricks?” He chuckled wryly, and she swore there was a twinkle in his eyes. Her hackles rose as he chided her derisively. “I wish life were truly as simple as the images reflected in amusement park mirrors.”

“Now, you listen to me, Angeles,” Eva began, but quieted when he raised a hand. His expression was somber and brooding, and she felt she wasn't going to like anything he said.

“I trust it would be wise for you to heed my words, Evangeline Keegan.” Authority seeped from his soft tones, causing her to remain silent. “It’s solely by your own hidden powers you can see that particular spirit.”

He provided the information as if he were reciting a well-known passage from a timeworn novel, for his voice-lacked inflection. She flinched and realized he pronounced her name as easily as if he’d been aware of her identity for a while. The pseudonym of Eva Keyes she had employed for years, keeping her true name hidden from public.

Clearly, Lucien whatever-his-last-name-was had his sources.

“Spirit?” Eva nearly spat the word at him, her tone radiating with the chill, anger, and a bit of fear. Despite the fact that she found Luke Angeles' show vastly entertaining, it was nothing but a television program. Though she admitted grudgingly she’d become an enormous fan, Those Among Us was nothing more than amusing. The show didn't make her go around wondering if ghosts resided among the living.

“You're still skeptical?”

“Look, I don't believe in the paranormal, or a supernatural plane!” Eva stressed the word don't as firmly as possibly. “Nor do I find it amusing that you somehow managed to dig up information on my personal life.”

The man, who never smiled on any of his programs, smirked at her. The action, delivered with calculating calmness, rubbed her wrong. “I know more about you than you would ever care to know.”

“I never met you before the other night!” She scoffed.

“I’ve watched you for more years than you have in your memory.”

She shuddered at his whispered words. “You’ve stalked me?”

“I never stalked you, Evangeline.” He heard the fear in her tone and granted her a tight-lipped smile. “Years ago, I was assigned to babysit.”

“Hell,” she snapped. “My dad wouldn’t have let you through the door, so you couldn’t have been my babysitter! We’re too close to the same age!”

“Your father had nothing to do with what I did.” He shook his head, his expression mocking. “I can only tell you I did look after you.”

“I don’t believe you!”

“Don’t.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I can tell you, Evangeline Keegan, that I know you. I know your past and present. If I delve deeply enough, I can predict your future.”

�Eva was uncertain about what made her more uncomfortable, the image hovering in the mirror, or the information Luke Angeles held! Granted, a person could discover all sorts of background on anyone, all thanks to the damn Internet, and she had used the cyber-world more than once in her researching needs. If given the correct information, the almost intimate details of any person's life became common knowledge.

That is, unless you were looking for information on Lucien 'Luke' Angeles.

“You ran away from home when you were seven,” his soft voice made another chill sweep over her, despite the appealing warmth of his apartment. Whatever she had been about to say froze, and she stared at him with cautious eyes.

“How do you know about that?”

“You were downtown, lost, in the pouring rain.”

Eva nodded, incapable of doing much else. The memory was foggy, dim shadows of years gone by.

“You weren’t frightened, as you should have been,” Lucien continued, his voice evolving into a smoky whisper. He began to rock on his heels and she sensed his agitation.

“I wasn't frightened,” she admitted, dazed.

“There was a reason why you didn't show any fear.”

“I…”

“Look at the glass,” he instructed gently. “Look and you will see the man within isn’t some manufactured form of trickery.”

Feeling tethered to a marionette’s fragile strings, she turned. The tarnished mirror was before her, the warm glow of lamps evident in the reflection. She clearly saw her image, the warm beige of her sweater and tailored black skirt in the forefront. Lucien stood a few feet behind her, his figure barely discernible due to his dark attire.

The figure sent a new wave of goose flesh over her skin. The sepia colored outline wavered and flickered, resembling a dissipating puff of smoke as it hovered in the air. She blinked, afraid to close her eyes, fearing the figure would dissolve as rapidly as it appeared. Some part of her rationalized the image wasn't an illusion, especially when his face creased into the slow semblance of a smile.

The spirit was that of a young man, his ridiculously skinny figure, and angular features familiar. There was a soft blurring around the edges of his face as he wavered in the air, and his body turned questioningly to the other male occupying the room. Eva followed suit and stared at Lucien. He returned her perplexed regard, his expression bland.

Her eyes wandered back to the reflection. She paled and her face reflected a flood of indecipherable emotions. Awe and confusion were evident, mingled with a startled disbelief.

At first, uncertain, fear ran through her. Her heart jumped and she squinted, the chill increasing. The supernatural figure at her side didn't move, becoming more solid, while the air about her grew frigid. Again, she glanced toward Lucien, struggling to regain the normalcy of her accelerating heartbeat.

Her freezing hand sought the smoothness of the back of her neck while she stared at him in confusion. She shuddered, knowing her eyes were shadowed with emotion, although they didn't bear the slightest resemblance to his darkening gaze.

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. As her lashes rose, an unexplainable soft radiance filled the room. With each passing second, the glow brightened, throwing the far corners in deep shadows. In the brilliance, the fathomless steel grayness of Lucien’s eyes vanished, replaced by impenetrable obsidian.

As their gazes met, she felt her legs would buckle. She shuddered while he continued to stare at her, his face devoid of emotion. His lips tightened and the last remaining vestige of color drained from her, her soul drawn into the unholy hue of his piercing regard.

Lucien was the first to break the hold he held over her, and the room swirled while she struggled to regain a much-needed breath. Frantically, she attempted to gather the insane thoughts threatening to run screaming from her mind. Her gaze darted back to the antique glass, wanting to reassurance of the image revealed in the blemished depths.

“Please, don’t faint.” She heard his plea but, in the deep recesses of her mind, she detected the whispery sound of raucous laughter. The humorous reverberation appeared to erupt from the figure standing in wispy reflection at her side.

She staggered to the couch. The calves of her legs struck smooth leather, and Eva collapsed. This time, she didn't care as the material protested. Incapable of speech, or coherent thought, she gulped, the action tearing at her throat. Her stunned attention shifted from the mirror, then to the man whose unearthly eyes bore into her. She blinked and assessed the situation, wondering if she’d ever be place two words into an intelligible sentence after tonight.

Lucien took a careful step backwards and stood by his chair, not seeking the abandoned comfort. It was obvious he intended to place as much space between them imaginable. She was unable to meet the darkness of his intent gaze and, instead, her eyes dropped to his hands. The pallor of his flesh appeared as brilliant as two bright beacons against his dark trousers.

He self-consciously slipped his hands into his pockets. Eva watched him for a long moment before her attention rose to the baffling darkness of his gaze. Her breath escaped her in a short little pant while she struggled to calm myself.

“Evangeline…” He began softly, his voice a whisper.

“Don’t you dare Evangeline me!” She snapped as she regained her breath.

“Let me explain…”

“Explain?” She shouted furiously. “What could you possibly tell me?”

“If you allow me…”

“Damn it! Ever since I did that interview with you, I’ve suffered two,” she paused and calculated the hours. “Shall we make it nearly three sleepless nights?”

“I didn't intend to disturb your sleep, Evangeline.” Lucien appeared contrite, although his jaw tightened.

“I’ve listened to this insatiable hum, in here.” She tapped her forefinger to her clammy forehead, and glared at him. “It’s driving me crazy and I’m tired of it!”

“I'm not responsible for what you’re hearing.” He protested with absolute innocence, his attention on the luminescent form hovering by the gilded frame. Lucien’s eyes held censure, and he grimaced at the flickering image. “If you have the need to place blame anywhere, blame him.”

Eva shifted a sidelong glance at the mirror, and the translucent outline shimmered. Her jaw tightened and her eyes narrowed, her cheek color alternating between a heated flush and stark pallor. She swallowed and turned.

“This…this….this thing is responsible?” She waved her trembling hand at the spirit.

“The voice and image are not of my making.”

“Have I gone crazy?” Eva managed to choke out the question, unable to think. There was an inner war waging within her, the journalism side longing to rationalize the situation, and the human side wanting to run in fear.

“No,” Lucien responded. “You haven't.”

“I’m not absolutely certain.”

“Lunacy’s never been a predominate factor in your family,” he assured with a grim quirk of his lips. “To be honest, out of all your relations, you're the sanest person I know.”

She let his comment hang in the air, unclear if she should be offended. She stared at him, striving to remain calm, and felt she was losing control of the situation.

“You can you see him, too?” She questioned in a hushed monotone, minute traces of shock lacing her normally steady voice.

Lucien’s hands tightened into fists deep in his pockets. The sigh escaping him was far heavier, revealing his discomfort. She stared into the unnatural darkness of his eyes, seeking answers, and he couldn’t maintain the contact.

He contemplated how to tell her of his power. The task was far more difficult than he imagined, since he hadn’t revealed his secret to a living soul for nearly four centuries. His lids lowered over his eyes as the living world tilted around him.

“I asked if you could see him,” she repeated more forcefully, rising. His eyes flew open and, hastily, he stepped back. Her hand touched air, and she growled in frustration.

“I've always seen him.” His admission was grudging, the grinding sound of his teeth loud. The darkness of his vision ebbed and the familiar steel color of his eyes swept over her anguished features.

“Always?”

“Yes,” Lucien didn't lift his eyes.

“Can you hear him?” Her voice dropped to a whisper.

“I can.” Ruefully, he nodded. “Not as clearly but, yes. I can hear what he says, if I choose to listen.”

“He sounds…”

Lucien looked at the spectral image that had remained on the fringes of this woman’s life. This man had been a determining factor of her existence, and an essential part of her youth. As she’d grown and stopped believing, he remained. His presence, although otherworldly, had shaped and molded her.

“The hum is an attempt to reconnect with your inner psyche.” He supplied the explanation in the gentlest way possible, his hands leaving his pockets and hanging at his sides.

“Why does he want me?” She asked in a whisper.

“You were close, at one time.”

“So all this noise I keep hearing…”

“The sounds are not just noise. I can imagine you hear an incessant droning later punctuated with intense whispers?” He sensed her nod. “The murmuring, did they sound like a hundred voices running rampant in your head, each clamoring for attention?”

She nodded. “I felt I stepped into a nightmare.”

Lucien emitted a humorless chuckle, his lips curling. She referred to the sounds he heard every waking moment of the day as the effects of a bad dream and he wished his life were as simple.

His nightmare was never-ending, and there wasn’t any possibility of escape.

“It’s not what you imagine,” he assured her, not turning from the mirror. “You aren’t mad. Instead, you’ve been granted a bizarre gift most paranormal investigators would envy.”

“A gift?” She retorted scathingly and scowled. “Your damned paranormal investigators can have it back! I want a refund!”

“I’m sorry, Evangeline.” He seemed truly contrite. “You’ve been granted a gift that'll not leave you, unless he chooses to seek haven elsewhere.”

She exhaled, and Lucien was aware the young man remained solidly at his post by the imperfect glass. The wraith like figure-displayed hesitance before his head flew back and his shoulders shook.

“Is he laughing?” Eva questioned, her scowl deepening. Lucien didn’t turn, but he did manage a tight smile.

“Rest assure, he’s not laughing at you,” he hurried to explain. “He’s amused because you’ve regained the ability to see him, again.”

“What the hell do you mean by again?”

“When you were a child, you had the power,” he lifted his hand to the spirit, his expression grim. “He's always been at your side.”

“I don’t believe you!”

“Listen,” Lucien instructed, observing the ghost’s lips as they moved, the hum of indistinguishable words filling his sensitive ears. “He'll tell you of your past, and your life to this point.”

“You’re crazy!” She screeched.

“I wish I were,” Lucien sighed, the sound heavy. “Look at him, Evangeline. Truly look at him. Can you honestly say you don't recognize him?”

Lucien remained silent and, for the present, the voice in her head screeched halt. Both men looked at her, if she could describe the ghostly image as such, their expressions hopeful. Her gaze focused on the unmistakable truth evident before her eyes and a sob ripped from her aching throat, and tears welled.

She couldn't ignore the spirit, his shadowy image reminding her of her youth. She knew him for what he had been...the epitome of the perfect older brother who never returned home.

“Reese,” she whispered, tears streaming and dripping from the soft curve of her chin. She repeated the name reverently. “Why can I see him?”

Carefully, he selected his words. “As I said, you’ve been granted a power, a gift.”

“Ah, that damn gift, again.”

“Evangeline,” he paused, his uncertainty evident. “Sometimes, we aren’t given a choice in what fate deals us.”

“Why me?” She sobbed.

“I don’t know,” the simple declaration filled her with trepidation. “Your brother has chosen you for his own reasons. Why is beyond my understanding.”

“I don’t understand….”

“Think of the past.” He urged. “What do you remember of your brother?”

“There’s four of us, at least there was,” she managed thickly. “Reese was the oldest, followed by Francis and Mariah. I’m the youngest, but we were always close, despite the age gap. Reese spoiled me, and he called me his little darling.”

“You were close?”

Eva’s eyes closed and a great sense of calm swept over her, the familiar sound of his gentle voice became suddenly clear. “I had forgotten him.”

“No, you didn’t forget, you became an adult,” Lucien supplied soothingly. “Children are far more receptive to the world beyond what adults envision, and see what adults ignore.”

“Who are you?” She managed with a gulp, her question sounding peculiarly distorted. She staggered, wavering on the ridiculous height of her heels.

He remained silent, his shoulders slumped, his expression dejected.

“I want to know who you were, Angeles!” She was unaware of the sharpness that entered her voice and Lucien longed to smile.

Were.

Unknowingly, she selected the only word that could describe him.

“That’s a difficult question to answer.”

“Will you just answer it?” Irritated, she wiped tears away.

“Do you promise not to have an attack of the vapors, if I do?” He asked again, more to assure himself she was thinking clearly.

“I'm not going to faint, damn it!” She snarled.

She pressed her knuckles to the ache forming in her temple. Petulantly, she threw the weight of her body back into the couch, wearily closing her aching eyes. The suddenness of her actions appeared to place Lucien at a loss, and he remained silent for a long while.

When he did speak, his words were soft, as if he were aware of her speedily growing headache.

“You’re the first person I’ve known who has had the otherworld revealed to them.” He cleared his throat, and frowned. She opened her eyes, wondering why it appeared difficult for him.

“Continue,” she ordered.

“You truly amazed me." He admitted ruefully. "You see what is impossible for most to understand, yet known I speak the truth.”

She watched him exhale a slow breath and wondered why the action brought a cryptic smirk to his otherwise placid features.

“There’s so much I want to say, Evangeline,” he admitted. “I don’t know how much you’ll accept.”

His lips tightened while he lowered his hand. He longed to reassure her, but comfort seemed impossible. His gaze lifted to the supernatural being hovering nearby, and there was deep-seated resignation evident in his face.

Uncertain whether she’d bolt from his apartment in terror, he was grateful she hadn’t reverted to the proverbial screaming banshee at the precise moment she’d seen the spectral image.

“If I can accept a disembodied spirit, I assure you I’m not going to freak out with whatever else you have to show me.”

“My name is Lucien,” he began, his words halting.

“I already know that much,” she snapped irritably, sensing he was stalling.

“I was born Lucien D'Angel.”

“Fine,” Eva attempted an uncaring shrug at his admission. “D’Angel. I suppose that explains why I couldn't Google you.”

“Except for my books and show, you wouldn’t have found anything under the name Angeles.” He admitted with a chilling smirk. “If you used D’Angel, though, you would have discovered something far more sinister.”

She paused and her eyes narrowed. “Give it a rest, D’Angel. If you had a sinister past, there’d be a mug shot somewhere.”

He shook his head. “I doubt that, dear.”

“Okay, then, let’s go with the obvious,” she retorted, choosing to ignore his comment. “I have to give you credit, mister. Angeles, D'Angel. At least your choice in names bears some similarity, since they both translate into angel.”

“Don’t mock me, or point fingers, Evangeline,” he chastised, a steel edge creeping into his rebuke. “It appears those guilty of the same sin are the first to condemn it.”

She flushed. Lucien D'Angel wasn't the only person with a pseudonym. Her name, Evangeline Keegan, had always been a mouthful. She’d discovered people had a tendency to remember the simple name she used.

“It wasn’t my intent to mock you,” she responded with forced humility, and he gave her a slight nod. Her lips tightened as she waited for him to continue.

“I am not guilty of any crimes.” He sighed deeply, his expression brooding.

“What do you mean?” She was growing more confused by the minute.

“I was christened was Lucien D'Angel,” she sensed the admission were difficult. “During the era your infant country was being discovered, my father conquered the kingdom of St. Lorraine.”

“Your father?” Eva questioned with skeptical disbelief.

“My father was known as D'Angel the Destroyer, for apt reasons.” There was an obvious lack of pride in his pensive tones. “You can please yourself and discover all the information you want on your precious laptop. There’s a few sites dedicated to the atrocities he inflicted on the masses.”

The name he uttered, D'Angel the Destroyer, sent an uncomfortable chill rippling over her and she rubbed her hands over her arms.

“Are you seriously expecting me to imagine you were born four centuries ago?”

He shrugged, though his lips quirked at her outraged tone.

“If you can see a ghost, why can’t I be four centuries old?”

“Fine, let’s suppose you are that old.” Her tone said otherwise. “You couldn't have a father named D'Angel the Good, Lord of Just and Might?”

�He shrugged. “I can only supply you with the information you request.”

She released the tight hold on her arms and waved a dismissing hand, gracing him with a sarcastic smile. “Please, continue with this fantastic tale of yours. I'm riveted!”

“My father had two heirs,” ignoring her sarcasm, he rocked again on his heels, his brow furrowing. “We were born the year he laid claim to St. Lorraine.”

“Are you telling me you're from the sixteen hundreds?” She couldn't contain her obvious disbelief.

“1615, to be precise,” he offered effortlessly.

“1615,” she repeated the date dumbly, echoing his frown. “If you were born in 1615 that meansyou’re…”�Eva paused as she attempted to crunch the dates in her head. Unable to concentrate, and numbers became a confused jumble.

“I'm three hundred and ninety-eight years old.”

“Bullshit!” She snapped and looked him over critically. “You can’t be any more than thirty-five!”

“I was twenty-one when my curse was delivered onto me,” he left the explanation hanging and Eva sensed unspoken pain. “I fail to age as a living human does. More or less, the passage of nearly every twenty-five or thirty years of a human life is the equivalent of one of mine.”

“Living human?” Eva felt the baby fine hairs on the back of her neck rise.

“Yes, a living human.”

“If you’re not human, what are you?” She questioned. “I see a man, as far as I can tell.”

“What your eyes show you isn’t a lie. There’s a slight exception, though. I'm not as you, I merely exist, nothing more. I'm simply a shell encompassing organs, an illusion relying on a costume of flesh.”

“I..."�words failed her and she felt her brain had shut down, her confusion intense.

“Have I managed to leave you speechless?” A single brow rose.

“I don't know,” she responded candidly, a part of her thinking his story would make a fantastic bestseller. “I'm trying to be objective.”

“You refuse to believe me?”

“You did say you're close to four hundred years old?”

“Yes,” he shrugged, his action barely registering.

Eva's lips tightened. “Well, I imagine this is the most ridiculous fairytale I’ve heard!"

“Stranger matters have occurred.”

“Fine,” she grumbled. “Let's just say what you're telling me bears some sort of truth. If you aren't human, then what are you?”

“What would you want to believe?” He executed the same shrug, his expression placid. “What do you presume I am, Evangeline?”

“Tabloid fodder says, to become one of your elite crew members, you either have a pact with the devil, or you're a vampire.” She scoffed at the absurdity of the words as she uttered them.

“You can’t consider my age, but you would prefer to imagine I’m of some other creation, besides human?” He left the question hanging in the air and took a hesitant step toward her.

“I’m quirky like that.” She answered sarcastically. “So, are you a vampire?”

He laughed, the smoky sound filling the room. Amused, he continued to chuckle, wiping mirthful tears from his eyes.

“I'm not a blood crazed vampire.” Eva felt color flood her face. “Your lovely neck is perfectly safe.”

“So, are you in league with the devil?”

“No, not with the devil.”

She couldn’t miss the stress he placed on his response.

“Are you one of the undead?”

“I can't be, if I’ve never experienced death.” He supplied the answer as if he were discussing the weather. However, she did catch the faintest sense of remorse and irony clouding his admission.

“D'Angel.”

The name fell from her numb lips, and she realized it did fit him, oddly enough. He brought to mind the paintings of angels from her youth, elaborate images filling the stained glass windows at her parent’s church. Those same angels had been pale and glowing, radiating with an indefinable serenity.

She sensed any angelic reference to Lucien D'Angel hit a distinctly sour note.

“Yes, my name is D'Angel.” He reiterated, but she was aware of the expression that suddenly flooded his face. Intense disgust was clearly etched in every line, the name not one he cared to acknowledge. He shook himself, sloughing off whatever demons that invaded his thoughts.

As he took another hesitant step toward her, Eva wondered why she felt more chilled than she’d ever felt in her life.

“We’ve got that much down,” she managed tightly.

“There are oddities in this world the normal and fragile human mind can't accept.” For a second, he appeared to restrain a shiver of his own. “What I'm prepared to show to you, Evangeline, I need you to grasp with an open mind.”

“Why?”

He took another step toward her. The intense darkness of his eyes didn’t reflect the gentle lighting filled the room, and she heard a sharply inhaled breath somewhere in the deep recesses of her ear. Eva realized the wavering spirit of her brother vanished as rapidly as he appeared.

Without uttering a word, Lucien lifted his pale hands, the flesh of nearly colorless palms level. She pulled back, startled by the unexpected action, and powerless to restrain a choking gasp of revulsion.

Resplendent in the glow filling his apartment, her host carried scars more common to a world century’s old. Savagely burnt into his left hand, he wore a circular brand depicting a multitude of angels and demons, eternally intertwined, and cavorting in a lewd dance of death.

As she watched, a yelp of unavoidable fright escaped her bloodless lips.

The scar burned with an intensity only rival to a freshly applied brand. The garish images appeared to absorb all radiant light and illuminated the room with a gleaming display of intense white. The winged angels rose brightly, withdrawing mighty swords that shot minute rays of reddish flame against the abnormal pallor of his skin.

Eva fell back into the sofa as the engraved demons danced wildly against his flesh, their faces twisting into hideous visages of terror and fear.

“I need you.” His plea was heartfelt although his words struck a chord of dread deep within her.

“Why?” The word stuck in her throat as she cringed back into the leather cushions.

“I want to die.”