The Collector (2 page)

Chapter Two

Hittin’ the Hooch

I’m standing outside a two-story colonial house in a neighborhood so sweet I feel like gagging.
Cooper
is spelled out on the brick mailbox. I’m in the right place. As if I wouldn’t be.

The front door is painted a rich, bright red. The corners of my mouth curl into a smile. Have I mentioned my love affair with red? It’s a beautiful, trusting relationship. Nothing coated in such a wondrous color could ever be bad. I stride up the walkway, run my hand over the red wood, and sigh. Then I see something that ruptures this magnificent moment.

At the end of the walkway is a cat. It struts with arrogance. You’d think it just won the Nobel Prize. But it didn’t. Know why? Because it’s a freakin’ cat. In case you missed the memo, I. Hate. Cats. I loathe them. They’re built with creepy little teeth and finger blades. I don’t know about you, but I’ll pass on
that
freak show.

The cat sees me and rolls its eyes. It does. I swear it. In my head, I imagine punting it across the street. I throw my arms up like a human goal post and scream, “It’s good!”

Behind me, I hear a
click
. I spin around and see an old woman who clearly thinks she’s a young woman glide through the red door… She’s wearing a silk kimono that shows way too much old-person leg. Her processed blond hair is sprayed out around her face, and she’s wearing more makeup than Lady Gaga. Without noticing me, the woman bends at the waist and reaches for the morning paper.

Thanks for the invitation. As a matter of fact, I
will
come in.

I breeze past her into the house. I’m sure she felt something, but her eyes persuade her otherwise. That’d be my shadow kicking in, the thing that allows me to become invisible whenever needed. It’s the only kickass ability collectors have, thanks to our cuffs.

Inside the house, I catch the scent of old people. You’d think the young girl would cancel out the smell of dinosaur, but it doesn’t. Not even close. I wonder where the chick’s parents are and why they aren’t around.

Every inch of the house is covered in flowers and lace and screams tacky. It’s like Martha Stewart vomited, and this is the crap that came out. I shake my head. These people need an interior designer. Stat. Mother would never have let this happen. She had refined tastes, and Dad was boys with Benjamin Franklin. Thinking about my father makes me remember That Night, and my stomach lurches.

A muffled voice creeps down the stairs. I’m too far away to hear what’s being said, but I know it’s her. Heading up, I imagine what kind of chick I’m dealing with. If Boss Man wants her soul, she’s got to be pretty bad, and I always did dig the bad chicks. In fact, most things I dug when I was alive were bad. Guess that’s how I ended up here. Most people got this thing in their head saying they’ll be with Big Guy when it’s all over. But let me tell ya, spend every day living only for yourself, every day indulging in little sins that
aren’t that big of a deal
, and one day I may be showing you the ropes in hell. Amen.

At the top of the stairs, I shake off my shadow, making myself visible again, and run through the rules in my head. I can do pretty much anything to bring this girl in, but I can’t physically hurt her. All collectors know hurting a human could trigger war on earth between Boss Man and Big Guy. Everything else, though, is fair play. And I’m not above pulling some dirties to get what I want. I swim a hand through my hair. It’s showtime. I push her door open…and my chin drops.

Her bedroom is painted a blinding shade of pink, and glittering posters drape her walls. A queen-sized bed stands in the middle of the room, shrouded in a sheer pink canopy. So many pillows litter her duvet that I’m sure she must sleep on the floor. There isn’t a surface or shelf that isn’t covered with glass figurines. It’s a room built for a seventeen-year-old who still believes she’s a princess.

My target has her back to me and is blabbering away on a
retro corded phone. It is, of course, decorated in pink and white rhinestones.

“I know. I know. This final is going to be way hard. Like, ridiculous hard.”

Her voice has the slightest Southern ring which might have been endearing, had I not been pressed for time. Boss Man made it crystal clear I have ten days to complete this job, and I always come in under deadline. There’s too much riding on this to screw up. If I deliver this one measly soul, I’ll be promoted to Soul Director. Like Max said, that means permanent placement on earth. And let me tell you, never having to visit the Underworld again? Serious motivation.

I knock once on the open door and sigh.

“I don’t think I’m sleeping from now until finals are over. If I don’t get an A in this class, my grandma will skin me alive and make it look like an accident.”

Come on, get a clue. I knock again and clear my throat. The girl spins around. My eyes widen at the sight of her.
This
is the girl Boss Man is after? She looks like a porcelain doll…beat three times with an ugly stick.

I take it all in: glasses, frizzy blond hair, a spray of pimples, and a stick figure so not attractive on a seventeen
-
year-old girl.

“Oh. Em. Gee. I have to let you go. There’s a guy standing in my doorway,” she says into the phone. Then, quieter, “Yes, very. I’ve got to go. Tell ya later.” The girl hangs up, and an enormous grin stretches across her face. She grabs a lock of blond hair and curls it around her finger. “Hi.”

“Hey,” I say. “Your grams let me in.”

“Oh, yeah? You here from the pharmacy?” She continues smiling like a lovesick moron. I can’t help but smile back.

“No, I’m here to see you,” I say, which apparently pushes her over the edge. The girl’s eyes widen, and she does this whole nervous laugh thing. I shake my head, but it doesn’t affect her. “Are you Charlie?” She nods, and her expression changes. Only slightly, but I pick up on it. She’s surprised I know her name. “I just moved here. My mom knows your grams. She said I should come by and introduce myself. Said we might get along. Name’s Dante.”

Charlie’s blue eyes study me from behind her thick glasses. “Where you from…
Dante
?”

“Phoenix.” Lying has always come easily to me. Don’t judge.

“Why did you guys move to Peachville?”

“Mom got a new job here. Said she always wanted to move to Alabama. Something about the trees in the fall.” Here’s a free tip: adding details to lies makes them more believable.

She nods her head as though I said something profound, then turns and walks to her window. For the first time, I notice she’s wearing purple jeans. My God, it’s like she stepped straight out of an ’80s movie. Her wavy hair falls to mid-waist, and I think how she looks better this way. From the back.

“You don’t want to stay for breakfast, do you?” Her words are slow to leave her mouth, as though she anticipates rejection. On the contrary. I can’t believe how easy this will be. She couldn’t be more desperate. Still, I take a second to respond. Girls fall faster for guys who are indifferent.

“Yeah,” I say as casually as possible. “Why not.” When she spins around, I notice her cheeks are bright red. “You all right?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s just when I get—” Charlie covers her cheeks with her hands. “You’ll love my grandma’s cooking, that’s all.”

All the way down the stairs and into the kitchen, Charlie yaps away. I nod and smile and smile and nod, and when she turns away, I form a gun with my hand, place it to my temple, and pull the trigger. This girl is starved for attention. It’s amazing to me when people are totally unaware of how bad they are at socializing.

Something else I notice is her limp. She has a subtle walking issue, and I’m wondering whether it’s from a birth defect or an accident and why no one’s done anything about it. It’s the twenty-first century. White coats can fix anything.

We spill into a small kitchen with a black-and-white tiled floor, small circular table, and cabinets the color of cat vomit. Though the kitchen’s decor stinks, the smell of something wonderful pulls me away from Charlie’s chattering. Bacon. Right there cooking on the stove. Yeah, I know. I’m dead. But I can still eat like a sumo wrestler. And if that deliciousness isn’t on a plate in front of me within two minutes, I’m eating it straight from the pan.

As if on cue, Grams breezes into the room with a plate in hand. She stops in place.

“Mmm…I’ve always dreamed of having dessert for breakfast.” Grams ogles me, a playful grin on her Botox-filled face. She’s thinner than I like my grandmas to be, but the ring of naughty in her blue-gray eyes captures my affection.

“Grandma!” Charlie moans in embarrassment.

“Child,” she says, without turning away from me, “why didn’t you tell Grandma we were expecting a handsome guest?”

Charlie shakes her head and smiles at me like we’re in this together. “This is Dante. He just moved here from Phoenix. I think you know his mom. Didn’t you let him in?”

Grams’s dyed-to-match eyebrows furrow. No worries. I got this. “My mom’s name is Lisa Walker. You guys met at church, I think?” She glances away and bites the corner of her lip. Now I just have to bring it home. “She said you’d remember her.”

“Oh, yes,” she says slowly. She stares into my eyes as if the answer is there. “I do. Just took me awhile to place her. I love Lisa. Wonderful woman.”

“She said you might say something like that.”

The deep lines on her face smooth with relief, and she laughs lightly. “’Course I remember Lisa.” She motions to a chair at the kitchen table. “Sit. Sit. We need to get the two of you fed. There’s enough for you and Charlie to share. You’ll be going to Centennial High, I reckon?”

She’s talking to me, of course. I cock my head toward Charlie. “I’m going where she’s going.”

Charlie’s mouth falls open. It takes her a moment to stutter a response. “I—I go to Centennial.”

“Yep,” I say. “That’s where I’m going.” Grams gives an approving nod and sets down a plate covered with eggs and toast. And bacon. She sits across from us and takes a pull on a water bottle.

“Grandma,” Charlie asks, “aren’t you going to eat?”

Her grandma lifts her water bottle. “I’m all set.”

Charlie turns to me. “Grandma loves water. I mean
loves
it. She says our bodies are made of the stuff, and if we don’t drink enough of it—”

“We’ll shrivel into beef jerky,” her grandma finishes.

“Well,” I say, thinking Grams is off her rocker, “to each their own.”

“Exactly!” Grams yells, sloshing water around in her bottle.

I lean over Charlie’s plate and take a bite of crisp bacon. I imagine it melting on my tongue.

Grams puts her chin in her hand and gets all daydream-y. “I haven’t seen muscles like these since I met my Rudy, God rest his soul.” She seems to be talking to herself, but I can obviously hear every word. “Dark hair, blue eyes, and skin so tan it’s like the sun bent down to kiss ya.”

I glance at Charlie, who’s covering her face. “Grandma,
please
,” she begs.

I don’t know what she’s complaining about. I’m really starting to like Grams, though I doubt if she knew what I was she’d be tossing the compliments around so freely. In fact, I bet if the woman so much as spotted my tattoos—the dragon covering my back or the tree tatted from my elbow to shoulder—she’d flip her shit.

Charlie stands up, walks over to her grandma, and kisses her forehead. She lingers there, like she doesn’t want to leave her grandmother’s side. “I’ll see you after school,” she says finally.

At the front door, she pulls a lime-green backpack over both shoulders. I cringe. Everyone knows you’re not supposed to wear it on both shoulders. It seems too eager.

Charlie glances at me and presses her lips together like she’s deciding something. Then she says, “You, um. You want to walk to school together? It’s okay if you don’t. You probably need to go home and get some stuff first. Or maybe you’re not starting school until next semester.”

Every sentence sounds like a question. I quirk one side of my mouth. “I’m right behind you.” Charlie grins like a lunatic, and my own smile leaves my face as I watch her cheeks turn bright red with excitement. So
that’s
how it happens.

I stand and walk over to Grams. I rub her back and thank her for breakfast. Old people love physical contact—I’m guessing her more than most.

She bats her eyes at me. “You’re so very welcome.”

The smell of rum hits me like a hurricane. So Grams is hittin’ the hooch, is she? Maybe the tats wouldn’t blow her mind, after all. I eye her closely, and her face drops when she realizes I know. I wink and squeeze her shoulder.
Your secret is safe with me
, I say without speaking.

Charlie heads out the door, all smiles and sunshine at watching the moment between her grandmother and me. She’s too naïve to realize her grandma’s a drunk, and I’m not going to tell her. Not yet, anyway.

As Charlie is leaving the house, she somehow trips on the threshold and nearly face-plants onto the ground. I roll my eyes. How is it possible out of all the people in this world,
this
is the soul I’ve come to collect?

Chapter Three

The Sound of Laughter

Apparently Charlie doesn’t have a car. “But don’t worry,” she tells me, “we can
walk
to school from here.”

Thrilling.

It’ll only take a few lifetimes, what with her limp and all.

Charlie carries a brown lunch bag in one hand, and every few minutes she digs Skittles out of her pocket and pops them into her mouth. I have no idea how she survives high school. She’s a disaster. It’s kind of tragic. Why is this girl still alive while I’m a walking corpse?

I can’t stop staring at her mouth. It’s the only part of her that’s passable. Of course, it never stops moving.

“Don’t you think?” she asks.

I meet her eyes. “What?”

She nudges me with her shoulder like we’re long-lost pals. “Someone’s been daydreaming. Want some sugar?” Her open palm is a stained Skittles mess.

“I’ll pass,” I answer. I’m not sure how this chick stays so tiny. She eats like a hippopotamus. Deep in my pocket, I rub my thumb in circles over my lucky penny. I’m trying to figure out how to corrupt this girl, and she keeps asking me silly questions.

Focus, Dante
.

I narrow my eyes and do what I’m trained. At first, her body is exactly the same: short and skinny, like a weed that needs plucking. But then it changes. The familiar warm yellow light crawls over her skin and flickers.

Ah, soul light. If I could drink it, I would. The color of a human soul is the same for everyone. It’s the seals that make the difference. I count how many she has, then clench my hands into fists. There are twelve seals on her soul. Only twelve.

Great, I’ve come to collect Mother Teresa.

Inspecting her soul closer, I notice some of Charlie’s seals are from collectors. I know because I see bursts of color: purple and green and orange and whatnot. Every collector can place seals, and you can tell who sealed a soul by the color. Most of hers are green. That’d be Patrick’s work. Naturally, I was the one to train him.

The fact that Charlie has any collectors’ seals means Boss Man has probably had her watched for some time, or at least the Peachville area. Staring at her, his reasons are lost to me. But it doesn’t matter. I’ve got to collect her either way. If I don’t, and she dies, she’ll go to Judgment Day, and Boss Man obviously doesn’t want to take chances.

Her soul is clear of any of my red seals, but that won’t last for long, ’cause Papa’s come to play. “How much farther?” I ask.

“Just on the other side of this hill,” she chirps. “Like I was saying, I’m not sure if you’ll be able to enroll this late in the semester, but at least you can see the school and stuff.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Charlie glances at me, and her eyes crinkle at the corners. “I think you’re nice, Dante.”

“That’s ’cause I
am
nice.”

She gazes ahead and walks in silence for almost a full minute. It suddenly feels strange to be near her and not hear her speak. The massive trees hang in a canopy over the road, stretching to greet one another, their leaves dead.

Toothy jack-o’-lanterns sit on porches and watch us pass. One looks like it’s mocking me, so I flip it off. Charlie sees me. She throws her head back and laughs long and hard. The sound startles me.

I wonder what it would feel like to laugh like that, with
complete abandon.

…

Charlie tugs me into the front office and announces me as a new student. The woman behind the desk eyes Charlie, then me. I know what she’s thinking, that I’ll ditch her by lunch. That we’re in two separate categories: the loser, and the guy who
calls
people loser.

I turn to Charlie and place my hand on her head like I would a dog. “Be a good girl and wait in the hall for me?” Her smile falls as if she expected this, but she nods and turns to go. I watch her walk out of the glass doors, where kids pass her by like she’s not even there. Like a ghost. I glance back at the woman behind the desk. She’s no older than thirty-five, but she eyes me with the bitterness of someone much older.

“How’s it going?” I ask. She raises an eyebrow. “I need to enroll.” She laughs without smiling. “Look, I
need
to enroll. And I need the same schedule as Charlie.”

“Well, none of that’s going to happen. It’s Friday. We only enroll students on Mondays. And we’re halfway through the semester. You’ll have to wait until January.” Now she does smile, because bursting my bubble is the highlight of her day.

I eyeball her tattered clothing and bad hair, and I smile right back. Because everyone has a price, and it just so happens hers is cash. I pull a wad of bills from my pocket and flip a few hundred dollars onto the table. “Think you can make a miracle happen?”

She stares at me like she might slap me, and for a second, I think she might. But then she chews the inside of her cheek and glances over her shoulder. “There’s a security guard, like, ten feet away. I could have you kicked out of here.”

“For what? Being awesome?”

She crinkles her nose like she smells something bad. That stank is called desperation. That’s what I’d like to tell her, anyway. Instead, I wait while she shoves the cash into her purse and hands me a blue slip of paper. “Show this to your teachers if they ask why you’re there. Good luck on your midterms,” she jeers. “Go ahead and follow Charlie’s schedule. I’m sure you guys will be great friends.”

I point a finger at her. “Thanks, babe.”

“I am not your
babe.
”

“Whatev.”

Outside the office, Charlie’s leaning against the wall. A pile of books are stacked in her arms, and she rests her chin on top.

“You really need all those books?” I ask.

“You can never be too prepared, right?” she says. A guy
shoulders his way past her, and Charlie’s books clatter to the floor. She dives to the ground to scoop them up.

“Watch yourself,” I tell him, because he almost hit me, too.

The dude turns and flips me off.

Right as the guy’s about to turn the corner, I flick my wrist in his direction. The yellow of his soul flips on, and seconds later, a small red seal attaches to the light. That prick needs to learn some manners. I form my hands into guns and fire them off in his direction. “Pow! Pow!”

“What are you doing?” Charlie asks from the floor.

“Nothing you should worry about.” I roll my shoulders. Man, it feels good to seal souls. Like eating a little slice of bacon. I think about turning around and sealing the soul of the lady who accepted my bribe, but I’m too distracted by Charlie’s bumbling. “Why don’t you put some of those books in your backpack, Charlie?”

“Oh, no,” she says, her eyes widening behind her glasses. “That causes back problems.” She swings her long hair over her shoulder. “So did they let you in? Can you go to classes?”

“Yeah, I can go.” The realization that I’m back here, in high school, pours over me. Isn’t the one upside of death a free ticket out of this crap hole? At least the high school I went to was nicer than this. We had the kind of school portrayed in movies. This place, on the other hand, is the Walmart of high schools: scuffed linoleum floors, ratty double-decker lockers, and plastic everything.

“So you’re in. Nice!” Charlie beams.

I meet her eyes and say slowly, “Cool.”

“Cool what?” she asks, her face pulling together in confusion.

“It’s
cool
that I got in, not
nice
.” She glances away, and I can tell I hurt her feelings. Crap. In order to have a bad influence on this girl, she’s got to like me. “Then again, what do I know?” It’s a lame attempt at making her feel better, but still she perks up.

“No, you’re right.” She swims her hand in front of her face. “It’s coooool.”

I grab her hand and pull it to her side. “Let’s just go to class, all right?”

…

Three excruciating hours later, I’m walking Charlie to lunch. I used to think teachers were idiots, and two years later, I’m sure I’m right.

Kids are pouring out of the four hallways that spill into the cafeteria. The overhead lighting is so bright, I have to shade my eyes. Something squeals loudly, and I ready myself to kill some sort of rodent. But it’s Charlie. Apparently, whoever’s walking toward us warrants this kind of hysterical reaction.

“There’s my Char-Char!” a girl sings as she nears us. She’s every bit as tall as I am and twice as thick. Charlie hugs Amazon Girl and then turns to me. “Dante, this is Annabelle.”

No. No way. That name is reserved for females with grace and elegance, not this girl. This girl is…beastly. “Annabelle,” I say. “It suits you.”

Annabelle laughs deeply and tosses an arm around Charlie, who I can only imagine is being crushed by the weight. “Yeah? ’Cause I always thought Godzilla was more fitting.”

I laugh so hard I snort. Charlie narrows her eyes at me like I did something awful, but I’ve decided I like this chick. She’s got spunk. And something tells me her soul has been sealed a few times.

“Nice kicks, by the way,” Annabelle says. She stares down at my bright red Chuck Taylors, the ones I almost never take off.

I spin them to the side so she can get a better look. They’re a flippin’ work of beauty. I nod in her direction. “Thanks.”

“Did you just move here?” she asks. Annabelle’s chin-length black hair is like a helmet, and heavy bangs make a hard line across her forehead. Nothing moves as she speaks.

“Yeah, his mom is friends with my grandma,” Charlie says before I can open my mouth. “He had breakfast with us this morning.”

“That right?” Annabelle glares at me with accusation in her green eyes. She doesn’t think I’ll be sticking around and doesn’t want Charlie to get hurt. How endearing. “And now you’re going to sit with us at lunch?”

“Yep,” I say. “Now what’s a guy gotta do to get grub around here?”

A few minutes later, I’m sitting with Charlie and Annabelle and staring at cardboard food on a Styrofoam tray. I’d like a one-way ticket back to Grams’s kitchen, please. I’m about to suggest this when a guy moves toward Charlie and drops down beside her.

“Hey,” he says in a small voice.

“Blue!” Charlie squeezes his upper arm. I’m surprised by all these friends popping up. Charlie doesn’t strike me as the kind of girl who has
any
friends, much less more than one.

The guy collapses against her. What is it with all these people using her as a crutch?

“I’m going to flunk chem,” he says like a deflated balloon. The guy’s built like a pasty-skinned streetlamp. I want to pull him aside and tell him about tanning beds. Or sunless tanning lotion. Something.

“No way,” Charlie says. “I’ll help you study.”

Blue—er, whatever—looks right at Charlie with big blue eyes and grins like a moron. I’ve seen that look before. It happens right before sex and broken hearts.

“Really? Yeah, that’d be great,” he says. “I don’t know why I’m doing so terrible. Guess I’m not smart enough. That, or my teacher hates my face.”

Charlie rubs his back, and he hunches into her touch. The guy’s slow, drawn-out words and defeatist attitude reminds me
of Eeyore from
Winnie the Pooh
. Man, my dad loved
Winnie the Pooh
. When I was twelve, I accidentally broke the handle off Dad’s Pooh coffee mug, and the next day he glued on two new ones. He called it his insurance policy. My dad was always doing funny crap like that.

Blue rolls his head of blond curls around like he’s relaxing his neck, but really he just appears drunk. I bet when this guy gets wasted, he crawls into his bathtub and cries. Annabelle pulls a jumbo package of powdered sugar–covered doughnuts out of her bag and tosses them to Blue. They hit him in the chest.

“Nice catch.” Annabelle snorts.

Blue picks them up and eats them one after another, and somewhere between the sixth and seventh doughnut, he notices me. “Hey,” he says, as if I haven’t been sitting here the whole time.

I nod. “’Sup.”

Blue gazes at me and then Charlie like he can’t understand why the hell I’m sitting next to her. You and me both, brother. “Charlie, you, uh, going to introduce him?” he mumbles.

“Mmm.” Charlie stops drinking her neon-orange soda. “Oh, yeah! God! Sorry! This is Dante. He just moved here.” She shoots me a big smile. I try to return it without seeming turned off. Without thinking,
Braces. Heard of ’em?

“He had breakfast with Charlie this morning,” Annabelle adds slowly when she catches Blue’s eye.

Blue’s head whips toward Charlie. So he
can
move quickly. Even quicker is the hurt that floods his face.

Relax
, I want to say,
that ain’t
ever
going to happen.