His Soul to Take (9 page)

Biting his lip, he pressed the buttons one at a time and put the phone to his ear. The phone rang and rang. He was about to hang up when a gruff voice came on the line.

"Hello?"

Robert's voice stuck in his throat and he forced the words from his lips. “Hi, Dad."

A long pause met him on the other line. For a moment he thought the man had hung up. “Robert,” he said, his voice cordial and hard. “What do you want?"

"I just... wanted to call. I haven't heard from you in a long time. Did you, uh, get the Christmas gift I sent?"

A harsh grunt came through the line. “I never opened it. Gave it to the church."

Robert winced and nodded. He had expected as much. He bit back tears and cleared his throat. “At least it didn't go to waste."

"Did you need something? I don't got no money to give you—"

"I don't need any money,” Robert said. “I just called... I don't know why I called. I'm sorry to bother you. I'm sorry about everything."

Another long pause drifted through the line. “You get yourself right—"

"Dad, please.” He took a deep breath. “I gotta go. I shouldn't have called. I'm sorry. Take care, Dad."

Robert hung up the phone and took several deep breaths. His vision blurred and he fought back tears. Real men didn't cry. Real men didn't do a lot of things. He had heard it throughout his entire life. A disappointment from beginning to end. He vaguely wondered if his father would set him in the family plot. Would he belong after he was dead?

He whipped the phone across the room and watched it shatter into a dozen pieces as it hit the wall. Bits of plastic scattered over the carpet. He didn't want to think. He could barely breathe.

Getting to his feet, he grabbed his wallet and keys and headed down to the liquor store. He needed something stronger than what was in his fridge right about now.

He made his way down the block and pushed open the door. A chime rang through the store and a kid, not more than seventeen, spun to face him with a gun in hand. Half his face was covered in a bandana and scared, young, wide eyes stared back at him.

Robert froze.

"Don't you fucking move!” the kid shouted, looking around in a panic.

Robert's eyes fell on the store owner, sprawled across the floor. Blood oozed from his head and pooled around his face. His eyes were closed. Robert wondered if he was dead. Would Simon come?

"I'm not moving."

"Open the fucking register!"

"All right. I can try. Let's just stay calm, okay?"

The boy glared at him and motioned toward the register. “Get the money! And your wallet."

Robert moved out of the doorway toward the register and reached slowly for his wallet. The sight of moment outside the glass doors behind the boy caught his attention. A woman fumbling with her purse outside the door. The boy's hand trembled as he held the gun.

Heart pounding, he pulled out his wallet. “Here."

The door opened behind the kid and he started to swing around to look behind him.

"Hey!” Robert shouted and dove at the youth to keep him from hurting the woman.

The gun went off with a deafening bang as he tackled the boy. His ears rang as they tumbled to the ground and rolled. A glass shelf crashed on top of them, and a wicked burn ripped through his chest as if trying to sear his soul. The woman screamed and raced back out the door. Numbness spread across Robert's chest, and the gun went off again. Heat seared his guts and strength evaporated from him.

He blinked as the kid stared down at him. Horror and shock rippled over his young features. With the bandana gone he was even younger than Robert had first thought. Not more than fifteen. Just a boy. Breathing was getting more difficult, pain growing like a cold fire through him.

The boy ran. The sound of the door chime echoed through the quiet shop.

Sirens wailed in the distance as his vision faded and all went black.

Pain.

Robert bit back a scream, his guts burning, his chest heavy. Faces hovered into view, and bright lights shone down from overhead.

"What's your name?” someone asked.

The fire in his stomach shot through every fiber of his being as something touched his gut. His lungs exploded with a cry of anguish and his vision started to blur.

"Hey! Stay with us. What's your name?"

"Robert,” he choked, gasping for air. “Robert Lasker."

"Okay, Robert. We're going to take good care of you, okay? Just hang on. How old are you Robert? Any medical conditions we should know about?"

He couldn't breathe. He tried to get a breath but no air filled his lungs, his vision faded, and he heard voices grow distant. Machines beeped and he tried to come back, he wanted to see Simon. To touch him. Hold him again before he died. Thought evaporated again, fading to black.

He had given Robert the day and night to calm down, hoping they could talk, but after several knocks, Simon wrapped his hand around the door knob and willed it open.

The door swung forward to an empty room. Morning light filtered through the window, but the room lacked life. The apartment hung heavy with emotion. He checked the bedroom. The bed was still made, untouched during the night. Worry seeped into the pit of his stomach. It was too soon. It wasn't his time yet.

He bit his lip and closed his eyes. Focusing on Robert, he let his sense guide him through the mist of souls. Like a forest, each soul rooted to its body with a tether. He felt his way through the forest until he found Robert, his root pulsing at an unsteady rate.

He opened his eyes again and followed the sense of Robert out into the city.

Emotion rolled in his chest as he rushed for Robert's sense. This wasn't supposed to happen today. He was suppose to have days left. Simon closed his eyes, willing back the burn in his chest raging through him like fire. He took a ragged breath and looked at the building in front of him.

The white hospital building looked far more ominous than usual, and his eyes were drawn up to the third floor where Robert lay. Reaper's presence in the area sent a chill through him, but not close enough to be a bother. Walking inside, he slipped past nurses and through restricted areas to find Robert lying on a bed. Tubes and wires ran from his body to machines. His skin was a pasty gray, and a thin blanket had been tossed over him. His frail body only a shell of the life it had held the previous day.

Simon moved closer, his chest twisting and breath coming in painful gasps. “Robert,” he called.

Tired eyes opened and a weak smile touched his lips. “I knew you'd come soon,” Robert whispered.

"It's not your time yet."

"But soon, right?"

Simon swallowed hard and nodded. “Yeah. Soon."

"A piece of the bullet is by my heart. They want to operate tomorrow. I don't think I'll make it through surgery. Do you?"

Simon shook his head. Emotion burned through him and he stroked Robert's cheek. The day's growth rasped against his fingers. His hand trembled with the touch. He wished he could stop time from passing, stop the world from moving. Tears blurred his vision, and he bent down, kissing Robert's lips.

"I'm sorry,” he whispered. “I wish things were different."

Robert's hand ran over his cheek as he pulled away. “I'm okay now... I have a request."

Simon's heart twisted. “Please, Robert. Don't do this. I'm begging you.” His vision blurred and he kissed Robert again, trying to keep him from speaking. He buried his head in his neck and pressed his lips to his ear. “Please, don't do this."

Each breath burned Simon's chest, so heavy. He was breaking. A thousand pieces, each one ripping and tearing at his soul. He hadn't been sure he had one until now. This moment.

"Shh, I know what I want now, and it isn't what you think,” Robert said.

"I don't want to hear it. Just rest, okay? There's still time to change your mind."

A small smile touched Robert's lips and his eyes grew heavy. “I'm tired, Simon."

"I know. Just rest a little bit. It'll be over soon."

Simon stood back as Jerry came to visit later that night. The cowboy stripper looked very subdued in his plain jeans and simple t-shirt. The worry etched on his face made Simon's heart break. He was tempted to give them some space, but had promised Robert he wouldn't leave him.

"Hey,” Jerry whispered.

Robert forced a smile. “Hey yourself."

Jerry forced a grin. “You're a hero, you know. You were in the papers."

"You still aren't my type."

Jerry laughed. “And here I thought that's why you went to all that trouble."

He forced another smile before closing his eyes.

Jerry took a seat on the edge of the bed and took Robert's hand in his. “Have you heard from your dad? I tried to call him, like you asked. No answer."

Robert shook his head.

"He's probably on his way. I'm sure he'll be here before surgery tomorrow,” Jerry said. “Oh, do I get to meet your new flame? Did I miss him?"

The smile that lit up Robert's face made Simon melt. His eyes opened and blue eyes glowed with life.

"You'd like him. He's quiet and sweet and has a great smile.... Perfect."

They chatted a bit more before Robert fell asleep and Jerry left. It was as much of a goodbye as Robert could muster, weak as he was. Simon took Jerry's place on the edge of the bed and watched Robert sleep.

Robert woke twice more. Each time Simon fought back panic expecting Robert to make his request. None came.

Early the next morning Simon watched as the doctors began to prep him for surgery. He waited until they were alone before taking a seat on the edge of his bed. Robert twitched a weak smile.

"I love you, Simon."

Tears spilled down Simon's cheeks, each breath harder to take. “I love you too, Robert."

The pain returned, ripping at his soul. He bent down and kissed Robert's lips, releasing his soul for him to take.

Robert stroked his cheek and kissed the tears away. “It'll be okay. You'll see."

"Don't—"

"Shh,” Robert said, fingers pressing to Simon's lips.

Simon let his protest die and took a deep breath. Forcing a smile, he stoked Robert's cheek and kissed him again. Simon tried to burn the taste of him into his mind forever. The memory of Robert had to last an eternity.

He pulled away as the doctors returned and watched as the nurses pushed the bed down the hall.

The crushing pain in his chest started to become unbearable. He bit back tears, not wanting to go through with the end, but knowing he had to. Robert's soul called to him, the vibration in his bones growing more intense with each passing minute. Still, he couldn't bear to move.

An old man rushed off the elevator and hurried past him to Robert's room.

"Oh God, I'm too late,” the man gasped.

The old man spun to look at him. “Where is he?"

Simon blinked with surprise and cleared his throat. “They just took him to surgery."

"They just took him to surgery.” Jerry said behind him.

Simon's heart fell. The brief hope that Robert wasn't the only one who could see him died.

"Are you his...” The old man paused as if struggling for the right words. “His, uh, friend?"

Jerry nodded. Robert had his father's features. The same bronze skin and jet black hair, the angles of his face and strong chin. Mr. Lasker was taller and broader, less the dancer's build of his son. The lines in his face were deep from stress and worry.

"He called me,” Mr. Lasker said. “He sounded upset. I should have—” He stopped and cleared his throat. “He's my son. I should have let him talk. Told him to come home. I wasn't always... I could have done things different is all."

Boiling emotion threatened to crash down around him, and Simon took a deep breath.

"We all make mistakes,” Jerry said.

Mr. Lasker and Jerry moved to the waiting area. Simon followed behind, watching the quiet moment between them. The two men who loved Robert in their own ways. He ached to be able to tell them something to ease their pain.

Simon sat down a few chairs away from the pair waiting for the final call.

"You know him well?” Mr. Lasker asked.

"Yes.” Jerry's voice cracked just a bit and he cleared his throat.

"Are you a dancer too?"

"Yeah. We worked together."

"And that's how you met him?” The bitterness in Mr. Lasker's tone unmistakable.

Jerry ignored it and stared across the room. “We met at a dance audition for some musical I can't even remember now. He was in rough shape then. Staying at a homeless shelter."

Shock rippled over Mr. Lasker's face, his mouth opened and guilt flashed behind dark eyes. The anger and bitterness drained from the older man and for a long time, they sat in silence. “I tried to be here sooner."

"Yeah, I tried to call you for him. There was no answer, I wasn't sure you'd come."

"He's my son. Of course I'd come."

The final call of Robert's soul called to him and Simon got to his feet, the ache so intense he burned with it. He fought the urge to let Robert curse himself, but couldn't bear to let that loneliness haunt the man he loved forever.

He walked down the hall. Nurses ignored him and the doors parted for him as he followed the sound of Robert's soul, past another door and into the sterile surgical room.

Everything smelt of blood and antiseptic. Doctors hovered over Robert's body, masks over their faces and white gloves slick with blood. Machines beeped unsteadily in a desperate attempt to save Robert's life.

Simon moved to the end of the table, the doctors ignoring him as he reached out to touch Robert's arm.

"Come on, love. It's time to go,” Simon whispered.

The machines squawked warnings, and doctors worked at a more frantic pace. Simon ignored the chaos and held out his hand. A second later, Robert's soul sat up and took his hand.

"Ew, is that my heart?” Robert asked as Simon helped him off the table to look at his body, heart and chest exposed as doctors worked.

"Yes."

"You know, that's kind of creepy,” Robert said.

Simon shrugged. “I've seen worse. You know, your father came. Would you like to see him before you go?"