The Soul Collector - By Tamela Quijas Page 0,7

resembling that of a hunted animal, forever fleeing the baying hounds nipping at his heels.

He scanned his surroundings, apprehension evident in his stance, before he paused. He wiped a shaking hand across the wetness blinding his darkened eyes, and strove to clear his vision. Stunned, he repeated the action. His nostrils flared and he shook his head, bewildered. Long strands of drenched hair whipped about his shoulders, and his dazed sight, commonly acute, blurred before alighting on the oddity that drew him.

In his refined vision, among the figures of the tortured spirits of the lost, an intensely glowing light blinded him. The brilliance was remarkable and breathtaking, reminding him of starlight.

It took a moment to notice the petite figure in the midst of the blinding luminosity, that of a young child. She sat on a vacant bench of a covered bus stop, the overhanging outline of the structure hardly visible in the pouring rain.

Purposely slowing his steps, intent on not frightening her, Lucien moved forward. He halted, his useless breath quivering from his strangely strangled lungs. A foreign, albeit thunderous, roar flooded his ears.

“Don’t be afraid, child.” His whispered words trembled. The last thing he wanted was for the child to bolt, and take with her this mysterious ray of starlight.

“I'm not afraid of you.”

A profound calmness flowed mistily about him, emanating from the seated child, and bathing him in an unfamiliar glow. Lucien felt unusual, as if he were in the presence of a spirit with the ability to rob him of both thought and his own accursed life source. A peculiarity, if he took the time to consider the petiteness of the individual.

“Do you not fear me?” He felt the essence of his cursed existence drawn into her red-rimmed eyes.

Children, humanity in general, avoided him. This child was different, for she didn't flinch, nor cower. She continued to stare, her brown eyes wide and trusting, and filled with unspoken hurt.

She had been crying---great heartfelt tears he recalled from his own childhood. The girl's eyes dropped and she drew her knees up to her chest, placing her arms about her limbs. He noticed she was careful to avoid the dampened hem of her jeans and wet socks.

The child's lips pulled slightly. It seemed she was carefully considering his words, and her sad gaze swept over him. Silent, she examined him, her thoughts pensive before a shadow darkened her gaze.

“No,” she answered abruptly. "I'm not afraid of you."

“Why?” Her candor startled him.

“You’re not the bad man.”

Despite the tears hovering beneath the surface, she granted him the sweetness of a trusting smile. Her eyes crinkled before she placed her round chin on her knees.

He wasn’t the bad man…

“How do you know I'm not?” His words quivered and his speech was rusty with disuse. A chill enveloped him and he dropped to his knees, his nocturnal sight ebbing. She remained strangely silent, gazing into the rapidly lightening color of his gaze, appearing to seek the person hidden deep within.

“You just aren't,” she reaffirmed with the saddest of smiles. There was a vacant gap where her front teeth should have been, granting her a youthfulness he envied. The glow radiating about her grew tenfold as she continued to stare his eyes.

“How do you know?” He dared to ask again and she shrugged her shoulders.

“I think there's someone else that looks like you. Reese says,” she huffed for a moment, struggling to recall unfamiliar words. “There’s another man wearing the devil’s coat.”

An uncomfortable sensation of stinging warmth burned his eyes, and he swiped the back of his hands across the offending orbs.

“How can you be so certain?” A thickness assailed his throat, and made speech nearly impossible.

“I see some things,” she whispered.

“You see things?” Lucien felt disconcerted and numbly repeated her.

“Reese says I can see inside you.”

“Ah, my poor little princess,” an unspeakable pain filled him. She would never comprehend what existed within him, or grasp the extent of his damnation.

A slow ache filled his chest and Lucien winced, afraid to shut his eyes as the pain increased. The tip of one fingertip unfurled from about her legs and, without the slightest bit of hesitation, the child reached for his face. He drew forward, unconsciously making himself more accessible.

Timidly, she wiped the saltiness of an unfamiliar teardrop from the deathly coldness of his skin.

He gasped, shuddering, his senses detecting the echo of a strange thudding sound he hadn’t heard for centuries--his beating heart. The organ fluttered painfully before it began to throb, the stinging