I looked at her a long, appraising moment. Kate looked back, angry and expectant. To hell with it, I thought. "For starters," I said, "my name isn't Jonah."
And then I told her. What I was. Why I came. I expected shock, anger, disbelief. But she just listened, without comment, without interruption. It wasn't till I finished that the questions came.
"So in the hospital, that was you?"
"Yes."
"You'd come to collect my soul."
I repeated, "Yes."
"I thought I'd dreamt it. I remember a sudden pain — pain and fear — and then this, this light…" Her hands found her chest. "But I haven't any mark. Any scar."
"The invasion isn't physical."
"So why didn't you take me?"
"I just… couldn't," I replied. "When I make a collection, there's this moment — this beautiful, terrible moment when my hand closes around the soul, and I see everything. Experience everything. A lifetime of beauty, and of happiness, and of sorrow. I see every kindness. Every slight. Every moment that's led them to my grasp. But the souls of those that I collect are just hollow echoes of their better selves — they're occluded by the darkness within. Yours was different. Pure. Unfettered."
"You make me sound like some kind of saint."
I smiled. "I wouldn't know anything about that. What I do know is evil changes a person, tainting everything until no memory is untouched. Only in your case, there was no stain."
"But how can that be? I mean, my family-"
"Kate, that wasn't your fault."
"But I have these flashes. These memories. Horrible reminders of the things I've done."
"I know."
"Then how could it not be my fault?"
"Tell me," I said, "earlier, when you were in the bathroom, how did you get out?"
"You got me out."
"Yes, but how?"
Kate's brow furrowed as she struggled to remember. "I was groggy. Sleepy. Then all of the sudden, you were in my head. I threw up. You rolled me over, so I wouldn't choke."
"Then what happened?"
"I'd barricaded the door," she replied. "You clawed at it, I think. I don't know — I was so groggy, all I wanted was to sleep."
"Did you want to do those things?"
She shook her head. "All I wanted was to die."
"And yet here you are."
I let the sentence hang in the air for a minute. She was slow getting there, but eventually, realization dawned. "You're saying someone else was in my head? That they killed my family?"
"Not someone," I replied. "Some thing."
"Some thing?"
"Kate, there aren't many folks like me out there, and we're kept on a pretty short leash. We never take what isn't ours to take; we just do our jobs — no argument, no deviation. Not to mention, I read the news coverage — there's no way someone like me could've mustered the kind of strength they're talking about. No, whatever did that wasn't human."
"Which leaves what, exactly?"
"A demon, most likely."
"A demon."
"Yes."
"But that's insane."
"Any more insane than what happened in the bathroom? Demonic possession is far from unprecedented, Kate. Most possessions go unnoticed; the body chosen is simply a conveyance, a means to an end — when the task at hand is done, the possessor leaves, and no one's the wiser. Seems like your guy had other plans."
"How can you be so sure? How can you be sure I didn't just suffer some psychotic break and kill them myself?"
"Because possession is by nature a violent act. You're forcing an unfamiliar body to succumb to your will. When you possess the living, you're also fighting the impulses of their conscious mind. That kind of struggle is sure to leave a sign."
Kate's brow furrowed. "What kind of sign?"
"It's hard to describe. You ever lend out a sweater, and when you get it back, it just doesn't fit right?"
"I guess."
"It's kind of like that." Kate seemed to accept that, which was fine by me. She didn't need to know the rest. That whatever had done this had violated her with such fury I'm surprised she'd even survived. That it had gouged and splintered her mind like nails against a coffin lid. That I'd been so terrified by what I'd seen, when I returned to this body, I hadn't stopped trembling for hours. No, she didn't need to know any of that. Which was fine, because I sure as hell wasn't going to tell her.
Kate said, "So where does that leave us, then? I mean, if I'm innocent, you'll be on your merry way, right? No harm, no foul. And I what — spend the rest of my days in a loony bin? And that's if I seem nuts enough to keep me out of prison. I mean, as far as the rest of the world is concerned, I'm still the one who killed them, right? Forgive me if I sound ungrateful — I'm glad I'm not damned and all, but this still pretty much sucks."
I sighed. "It's not that simple. You're marked for collection, Kate. And once you're marked, you're collected — it's as simple as that."
"Can't you talk to your boss or something — explain there's been some kind of mistake?"
I shook my head. "Lilith's not exactly the understanding type, Kate, and even if she were, she's not the one calling the shots."
"Then who is?"
"The short answer is, I don't know. The longer answer is, I don't know 'cause they don't want me to. Lilith is my handler, and she's the only one I ever deal with — I couldn't go around her if I tried. But she's made it very clear that babysitting me is nothing but a chore to her, something passed down from on high — or on low, I guess you'd say. Besides, I doubt an end run around Lilith would even do us any good. These are the denizens of hell we're talking about, Kate — I've got no reason to believe her bosses would be any more receptive than she would. No, I think the best thing we can do is stay off the radar for a bit, while we figure out what's going on."
"What happens if they find out that you're helping me?"
"I don't know," I replied. "As far as I know, no Collector's ever willfully disobeyed an order before. But what we're talking about is mutiny — insubordination against the authority of hell. I'm pretty sure I don't want to find out."
"Why not just take my soul, then? It's not like I have anything left to live for."
"I can't. Whatever's going on here, your soul's not mine to take. My job is to collect the wicked, the corrupt. The taking of a pure soul is forbidden — the results would be catastrophic."
"Catastrophic how?"
"We're talking some serious End of Days shit here, Kate."
"Oh," she said. Her eyes no longer met mine; she seemed suddenly fascinated with a spot between us on the floor. "OK, then. But if I'm marked for collection and you can't collect me, where does that leave us?"
"I don't know. Being marked isn't something you can easily fake — whoever did this has got clout, to say the least. Which means this wasn't just some demon on a joyride — whoever did this had an agenda. The way I figure it, our best bet is to figure out who's behind this before they get wise to the fact that you're not in the ground and send someone to finish us both off. That is, if we can keep clear of the cops for long enough."
She surprised me with a laugh, full and throaty and beautiful. "That's our best bet?"
"Near as I can tell."
"Well, shit," she said, and despite myself, I smiled.
"Yeah," I replied. "Shit."
7
"So," Kate asked, "what now?"
I shrugged, chasing a mouthful of pastrami sandwich with a long pull of Brooklyn Lager. It had been a few hours since Kate woke from her little chemical nap — she'd polished off her sandwich in record time, and I was pleased to see some color returning to her cheeks. I'd stuck around until I was pretty sure she wasn't going to make another go of it, but eventually hunger got the best of me. I swapped my scrubs for a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and some battered Chuck Taylors, and hiked down to the bodega on the corner for a pack of smokes and a bite to eat. The cigarettes tasted like shit, but the sandwiches weren't half bad, and after a day of traipsing all over town barefoot, I was happy for the wardrobe upgrade. Friedlander might've lived in a dump, but at least I knew the clothes fit.