Day 206: Interview with the Collecter

“How long you’ve been in the ghost business?”

I set the recorder on the desk. The man behind the desk rocked in his chair, thinking.

“I wouldn’t call them ghosts necessarily, but since I was a kid. The family owned a funeral home. When times were tough, the old man would call in some guys, and we’d get a percent. Just like now, but a little different, obviously.”

“Did your father ever get caught?”

“Naw. He got collected before anyone could get close. He was among the first wave of the Disappeared.”

“Don’t you think that it’s ironic that you, now, are a collector?”

“Was I mad that they stole my dad and left the body? Yeah. But being mad doesn’t make you money. The world’s overpopulated as it is. You don’t think the government turns the other way when they find a big time collecter? You’d be surprised how many of your senators partake in the breathing. They love the high just like everyone else. And they can afford the...let’s just say...rarer of cuts.”

“The celebrities, the ones with heritage, third world…”

“Yup. Yup. Other collectors. World leaders are the top tickets, but those take an army to get to. Or a mistreated assistant.”

I pause and think about how to ask the next question.

“Is it easy to collect the soul?”

“Morally or physically?”

“You choose.”

“I don’t do most of the collecting nowadays. I have people for that. But when I got started it was people that were already on their way out, you know. We’d go to nursing homes or hospitals. It just looked like they died of natural causes anyway. No one was really getting hurt and we were making some money. And getting high. There’s nothing like the first time you do it. To absorb a life in your lungs, into your mind. Man. The world starts to make sense.”

“So, you think it is justified that the souls are...more directly passing down wisdom?”

“The world is thriving. We’ve solved poverty. Everyone’s basic way of life is peaceful. Crime is down.”

“But not your crimes.”

“They are where we like them and we aren’t getting greedy. I can't say that for every collector of the world though. The Disappeared were unnecessary. It was excessive. But it takes humans time to understand how to use new technology...fairly.”

“How do you or your group choose who to take?”

“There’s not too much debate nowadays. They’ve all been in the game long enough. You can’t have morals. Not anymore. That doesn't mean take everyone that crosses your path, but this is still a business. A necessary business. We must use our mind to carry our race forward.”

“Another hint of irony…”

“More people does not mean a better society. Absolute freedom is chaos and leads to unnecessary wars. We know this. We’ve seen this. We’ve lived this.”

“Do you think you will get caught?”

“Someday. But it won’t matter. There are people that prefer my freedom.”

“Do you think that one of those people is eventually going to decide to collect you? I mean, I imagine that you have ingested a lot of souls in your time. That’s a lot of knowledge packed into one tube.”

“You’re right. When that time comes, it will come. Being a collector is the most dangerous business in this world. Yes, we inherit all the other souls in the process of inhaling a collector, but they are diluted. Not as full as an original. The highs only better for the visuals, not the feeling.”

“Interesting.”

“Have you ever tried it?”

I shake my head.

“I’ll share with you. Think of it as a tip for doing the interview.”

“You don’t know if the article is going to be good.”

“I trust that it will be honest. That’s the only reason why you're here. The audience can decide what is good.”

“I appreciate the compliment. But I still would rather not.”

“If you want to fully understand our side, our business, our mission, there is only one way to get that perspective.”

“I’m not a murderer.”

“You use paper, right. You eat hamburgers. You didn’t chop down the tree or cut up the cow, but you enjoy their purpose, their...taste.”

“This is a human, though.”

“Many animals have souls. Humans just feel better.”

“I don’t know.”

“I won’t force you. It was just a gesture of my appreciation.”

“Well, you’re welcome.”

“The offer will always stand.”

“Thank you. I mean...I’ve always been curious. How do you even…”

He slid a tube out from a lower drawer. The cloud inside swirled like a lava lamp, darting around in random rhythms.

“She was old. Cancer. Simple life. No children. Married and divorced. Worked at a bank. No harm, no foul.”

He cracked the top of the canister like the first twist of a two-liter.

“You just inhale. Deeply.”

“Will I cough it out?”

“No, it wants a body. But it doesn’t understand what is happening.”

“What happens afterward?”

He shakes his head. “For you: bliss. For her: I don’t know. The beyond is still a mystery.”

I lean forward as he tilts the tube my way. There’s another crack of the seal. I exhale, emptying my lungs.

“Ready?”

I nod.

He twists the cap the rest of the way and a flood of cold air rushes into my lungs filling my body like I’m a water balloon. Touching every cell, encompassing my mind, I can see the world slip away and her world emerge. From birth and childhood, I see her parents fighting, birthday parties, exploring the city, lost, finding friends, feeling the first love, the first heartbreak, sex, college, trips to Australia, standing in a desert at night, swimming, the ocean waves, her wedding, stagnant days, fights that look like her parents, drinking, hitting the lows and finding the swallow highs, loneliness, staring at the world on a park bench, co-workers, parties, doctor’s appointments, skydiving, lost love, bitterness, gratefulness, the last days of the sun rising and setting, and the last breath...

The man and the desk reemerge.

I exhale and let the cloud, now pale in comparison, flow from my body and dissipate into the air. My eyes are wide. My skin is numb. Sweeping through my heart is the most unbelievable feeling of calmness, a connection to the rest of the universe. The knowledge and wisdom of another life streamed through my mind like a video in fast-forward. Instant awareness of myself as a life and the small but infinitely large role that I play in the grand plan. I feel whole.

The man sets the empty canister down on the desk, reaches over, and clicks the stop button on the recorder.

“Who else can I try?” I ask.