His Soul to Take Read online

  "Jerry, pay attention for a second. The guy that pulled me out of the way of the lights. Where did he go?"

  "Huh?” Jerry asked, forcing his eyes away from the firemen with some effort.

  Robert bit back his annoyance. “The guy that saved me from the lights. He was just here."

  "There was a guy? Hmm, must not have been paying attention. Must be losing it to have missed that, then again, there are so many tempting treats around here. Was he hurt or something?"

  "No."

  Cops and firemen swarmed around them, asking questions, and someone threw a blanket over Robert's shoulders. He scanned the crowd again for Simon and caught sight of him through the throng.

  Straight brown hair and somber, chiseled face. He had such sad eyes, Robert wanted to reach out and wash it all away. He didn't seem like a man who had seen much affection or kindness in a long time.

  "Back up, please. Back up,” one of the cops said, waving the crowed farther away from the club.

  People bumped and pushed their way behind the police line. Robert staggered and Jerry caught him before he fell into the masses. The surge of people pushed him farther from Simon before the crowd swallowed him up.

  Sighing heavily, Robert turned back to the flock of cops and answered another round of questions. His bones ached, and predawn light was growing on the horizon before Jerry drove him home.

  The memories of the lights crashing down on those men, the panicked screams and choking fire didn't leave him. He tried to will away the images, but the scent of smoke clinging to his skin kept causing them to resurface. The cops hadn't even said how many were killed, but more than one person had been lifted out of the rubble and into an ambulance, ominously silent as it pulled away.

  Jerry stopped in front of his apartment a while later. Robert sat in the passenger seat for a long moment. Damn, what a night.

  "Are you sure you're okay?"

  "Yeah. You?"

  Jerry nodded, his eyes thoughtful as he stared off down the street.

  The silence stretched out between them, and Robert forced himself to open the car door. The adrenaline crash hit him hard. Everything ached as exhaustion seeped into his bones. “I'm tired. I'm going to bed."

  "Call me later, okay?"

  Robert grunted and waved him away. Stepping into his cheap little apartment, he stripped out of his pants for a quick shower before he dropped onto the bed.

  Lying in bed, his thoughts returned to the club chaos and his strong-armed hero, Simon. There was something so drawing about him. Robert couldn't seem to get his mind off the quiet man. Hadn't he asked him out again? It seemed like it, though now that wasn't likely to happen. He'd hoped to give him his number after the show. The whole bit of chaos threw him off. Damn, it had been way too long since he'd had a proper date. The nightly propositions were getting old. He wanted something real. He'd spent too much of his life like Jerry, chasing whatever attractive man crossed his path. Jerry might be able to fuck anything that moved, but Robert was ready for more.

  He was, well, lonely. The privacy he had adored when he got his apartment now seemed too quiet. Coming home to an empty bed was growing more depressing by the day. Too many nights had passed wondering if he'd ever find someone to share his life with and make it count. Make it really mean something, and not just be some passing fancy. Romantic notions to be sure, but maybe not impossible.

  Sighing heavily, he closed his eyes and tried not to think about Simon and his lost chance with that particular Prince Charming.

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  Chapter Two

  Death wandered the city through the night, taking souls until the calls came to an end. With a gentle sigh he sat down in the alley beside an old bum. His corpse lay rotting, untouched for three days now, but his spirit still lingered. Death had tried to convince him to go through several times, but the old man was confused and afraid. Sometimes that happened. Depressed or angry souls too attached to this world, or something in it, just refused to go on to the next.

  "If I go through, what happens?” he asked

  Death sighed and shook his head. “I don't know. I've never been. I'm not allowed to look."

  "Haven't you ever peeked?"

  "I can't. I can only open the portal. I can't pass through. I'm barred from entry."

  "Oh,” the old man said. “That's gotta suck."

  Death smiled. “I'm accustomed to it."

  The old man studied his body as it lay halfway between a dumpster and a cardboard box. “Do you think they'll find me today?"

  "It's just a body. It holds nothing of you anymore."

  "I think I already miss having one. Can't drink without a body."

  Death twitched a smile. “I should be going. I have work to do. I might not have time to come back and ask again. Do you want me to open the portal? You really shouldn't stay here. You could be trapped here for a very long time. You can't do much here, really. Not as a spirit."

  "What if over there's no better?"

  He wasn't sure what to say. He couldn't be certain that the other side was any better, but surely anything over there was better than here. At least something there called to souls.

  "You know, you really aren't very good at this job,” the old man said.

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Aren't you supposed to convince me to go?"

  "No. The decision has to be yours."

  "Another one of those rules? Eh, what stupid rules. Can't I just wait until they find my body? I don't like the idea of me rotting there and no one finding me. They keep letting me rot away, and my family will never know I'm dead.” His shoulders slumped and a sad sigh drifted from his lips.

  Death thought a long moment, uncertain what to do for the old spirit. Life had not been the best for him here. He could at least give him a little bit longer to wait. He disliked leaving souls about, they grew so sad and lonely. He knew that loneliness all too well. “I'll come back soon, but that's the last time. If you say no then, I'll have to go. You'll have to find me if you ever want to go through after that."

  "All right. I'll be here. I just want them to find me is all."

  Death said nothing and got slowly to his feet. The old spirit went back to sit beside his body, his sad eyes on his empty shell as he waited to be found.

  His mind wandered and his thoughts turned to Robert, the attractive dancer in the mock mobster outfit. The sway of his hips and the ripples of his body drifted through his mind like a warm dream. Death could almost smell the scent of spiced musk that lingered on his skin. He couldn't rid his mind of the memory. He reached into his pocket and took out the white rose Robert had tossed to him. The flower remained fresh and fragrant. Perfect petals in half bloom trapped with him in time.

  How long had it been since someone had reminded him he was flesh? Reminded him he could want and feel things?

  He suddenly had the urge to go see him again and found himself moving toward Robert's home a few minutes later. Uncertain if it was the call or his own desires, he let himself find his way back toward the bus stop.

  Hope. The luxury of such an emotion warmed the soul he'd thought dead. An invigorating yet unnerving sensation that twisted his gut and flooded him with energy. He found himself walking faster than usual, eager to see if Robert would be there. But what would he say if he was? And if he wasn't, could he risk taking a peek at him again? The memory of bronze skin and white sheets sent a hungry shudder through him.

  He rounded the corner to the bus stop. His heart sank at the sight of the empty bench and he looked down the road toward the apartment complex. He couldn't very well explain how he knew where Robert lived if he happened to run into him there.

  Disappointment bloomed. Another emotion that felt alien to him. The sharp sting of fading hope and the drop in his gut gave him a flutter of excitement. To feel again, even if it was such a grim emotion, was a thrilling concept.

  "Simon?” a voice called.

  Death turned at the soun
d of Robert's voice. Simon, the name was still a surprise to hear aloud.

  He caught his breath as he took Robert in. Curls of dark hair falling around his face and eyes so alive with joy and life.

  An unexpected surge of want seeped into his bones. To see him, touch him, to enjoy every inch of him. A knowing smile rippled across Robert's lips, and Death pulled his eyes away.

  "I was hoping you'd show up here,” Robert said.

  The plastic bags in his hand rattled, drawing Death's attention to the groceries in Robert's hands.

  "You left before we could talk."

  Death hesitated. “I had to work."

  "Deliveries keeping you busy?"

  "No busier than usual, but I have deadlines,” he said motioning to the bags. “Would you like help?"

  "Sure."

  Death took half the bags from Robert and they walked toward the apartments down the street. He barely noticed the buzz of traffic over the excited flutter of his heart.

  "I'm out of a job for a while. Your place wouldn't happen to be hiring, would it?"

  Death winced. “You wouldn't want my job, Robert. I rarely stay in one place long and it gets... very lonely."

  "You just have to be more outgoing. Make some friends."

  Death said nothing and let Robert lead the way down the hall to his apartment.

  "Want to come in? You aren't working now, are you?"

  "I'm always working, but I have a little time."

  Robert's smile was infectious. So bright and open. Such expressions never fell on him. Such smiles were reserved for others. A deep ache hit Death. He had a job to do soon. For the first time he was considering what would happen if he didn't. The world certainly couldn't be any worse off if that smile stayed in it a bit longer.

  "Are you okay?” Robert asked stopping outside his door. “You have that expression on your face."

  "What expression?"

  "That quiet, sad expression. You smiled, and then it was gone. I like it when you smile."

  "I guess I haven't had much to smile about in a long time."

  "I'd like to make you smile more.” Robert laughed suddenly and pushed open the door. “Too corny?"

  Death shook his head and stepped into the apartment, closing the door behind them. “No. Sweet."

  Robert stopped and turned to face him. “You think?"

  He was so close Death could feel the warmth of his body. Intense, bright eyes stared back at him. Before he could think to stop himself, he closed the space between them. His lips brushed against Robert's, soft and gentle, and the bags fell from numb hands. Robert's eager lips opened to him, begging him to taste, and Death pulled him closer, his tongue exploring, devouring. The scent of him. The spicy splash of cologne mingled with a raw manly musk, so enticing. A deep ache of lust grew, spreading, building. Strong hands pulled him closer. He wanted....

  Death gasped for breath and pulled away, stepping back from Robert. Clearing his throat, he took another breath to try and ease some of the hunger he hadn't felt in so long. This was too much. He had to think.

  "I should go,” Death whispered.

  Turning quickly he opened the door and left before he did something he'd regret.

  * * * *

  Robert sagged against the wall and let out a heavy sigh.

  That was stupid. Stupid-stupid-stupid.

  Not that he regretted anything about that kiss.

  He touched his lips. Simon had tasted of winter. Like the fresh clean taste of new snow without the chill. He couldn't remember tasting anything quite like it before.

  Still stupid. He barely knew the man. Didn't know his full name, his fucking phone number. Geez, he was such an idiot. Hadn't he just been thinking he wanted something more than a quick fuck?

  Shaking his head, he picked up the groceries they had dropped by the door and carried them to the kitchen. The silence in his small apartment made Simon's disappearance feel all the heavier. He should have stopped him from going or asked him to stay for lunch.

  He shoved the last of the groceries into the fridge and pulled out the newspaper, circling potential jobs in bright red ink. The silence in the apartment reminded him just how empty his place was.

  The phone rang and Jerry launched into excited babble over his newest conquest. Some cop who'd been at the fire.

  Robert let him rattle on about his new affair, glad not to have a reason to talk. The occasional grunts and other non-committal sounds were enough to let Jerry chatter on for hours. And anything concerning sex had Jerry unstoppable.

  Robert flipped through the paper, his eyes drawn to a photo covering most of one page. A lone figure stood off to one side, almost hidden among the rescue workers. Long, dark, trench coat, straight dark hair... Simon? The image was too distant and distorted to tell. He squinted and blinked again, studying the photo in more detail. A seven-car pileup, three dead, six injured. The mangled wreckage bound two cars into one as firefighters worked the Jaws of Life to retrieve a victim.

  He shook his head and tossed the paper aside, dismissing the photo.

  "Did you go job hunting today?” Jerry finally asked when the tales of his exploits had wound down.

  "Huh? What?"

  "You said you'd be doing some job hunting today."

  Robert turned his attention back to the conversation. “Yeah, I picked up a paper. There's an open call for auditions at one of the theaters tomorrow. They're looking for dancers. Maybe I'll get lucky."

  "You need to get lucky.” Jerry snorted. “Your self-imposed celibacy makes my balls ache at the very thought."

  Robert rolled his eyes. “Is that all you think about? Sex?"

  "No, but life is a lot more fun when I do. I'm taking Officer Green—doesn't that just have a delicious ring to it?—out tonight. Wanna come?"

  "And be a third wheel? I don't think so."

  "Okay, just thought I'd offer.” Jerry said. “Oh, and Maxine's in the hospital. She wants you to pick her up some magazines."

  "I didn't realize she was hurt."

  "Just a small burn. I think they're releasing her from the hospital tomorrow. Wanted to make sure she was okay after inhaling all that smoke."

  "All right. I'll grab a few magazines and head on over there."

  The conversation wound down and Robert hung up the phone. The steady tick of the clock over the old TV drifted through the living room. He studied the room and sighed. Worn furniture with one too many stains filled the apartment, a TV so old half the buttons were missing, the mismatched end tables all handed down from Jerry or yard sale finds. The only thing of value was the CD player in the corner, bought to work on his acts for the club. Hell, a robber would peek inside and laugh before leaving. Might even pity him enough to leave the CD player.

  He didn't have anything to offer anyone. He didn't have his own house, and now that the club was gone, he was out of work, he spent his time auditioning for dancing gigs, and he didn't even own a car. No wonder he couldn't find someone ready for a serious relationship.

  He didn't have a family. Well, none that would claim him. His only friend was self-absorbed, and Robert probably wouldn't hear from him again until his fling with the cop was over. He didn't have anything.

  He ran his fingers over his lips again. Except for a kiss with a relative stranger.

  He smiled at the memory. That wasn't a bad thing to have.

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  Chapter Three

  Death walked down the street, eager to be away from temptation. The thought of ever being in such a situation had never entered his mind. Living people never saw him. Not the sane sort.

  Robert was different. He wasn't mad, just more observant than most. Special.

  The weight of something familiar drifted in the wind. A cold chill ran down his spine and the air grew heavy as the presence grew closer. He stopped in front of a small cafe and went inside to wait. No one paid him any attention as he took a seat in the booth at the far end of the cafe.

&n
bsp; A few minutes later another stepped into the cafe. Like himself, the man was so average he was never noticed, but Death saw him. Death knew his own.

  The Reaper frowned and made his way through the cafe to sit across the booth from him. Hard brown eyes bored into him, and Death struggled to keep from fidgeting. His interference had drawn Reaper to him and his stomach twisted with worry.

  "Hmm, it's been awhile since this has happened,” Reaper said.

  Death said nothing and stared down at the placemat in front of him. Colorful monsters and kid friendly games splashed the paper with vivid hues.

  "Why am I here?” Reaper asked.

  Death shook his head and stared down at the placemat. His finger traced the colorful monsters on the paper.

  There was a long pause as Reaper stared off thoughtfully into space. “You've interfered and pulled your target from his destiny last night. His pain would have eased the transition."

  "It was unintentional."

  "That doesn't really matter though, does it?"

  "No,” Death said.

  "You've been at this for a long time. You know how things work. So why am I here? Fix it or I will."

  "What happens if I don't?"

  Reaper shot him a dark look. “Don't play games here. This is someone's soul we're talking about. Things live and things die—"

  Death took a deep breath. “No, I'm serious. I want to know. What happens if I can't fix things?"

  "Can't or won't?” Reaper got to his feet. “Do what's best for him and fix this. I know you've been here a long time, longer than most, but this is a soul we're discussing. A living soul. Do what you have to do."

  Reaper moved through the cafe as a busy young waitress scrambled to pull off her apron. The Reaper stroked her arm like a caress and the woman dug through her purse never acknowledging the touch. Keys in hand, she rushed to the door and disappeared outside.

  With a flash of white teeth, Reaper followed her out the door like a hungry predator eager for his next meal.

  Death got to his feet and left the cafe. He had his own work to do.

  As he was drawn to his next assignment, memories bubbled to the surface. Images flashed through his head of times long since gone. Fields of men in armor, palaces and plagues, burning cities and weeping children. Such destruction and grief, little wonder he'd chosen to forget.