The Lost Soul Read online

  Near the blood spot, the items appeared to be mostly trash. I could make out discarded bits of paper and plastic, broken beer bottle, even a few batteries. Closer to the dumpster I caught a twinkle and felt myself drawn toward it, away from where Rob and my dad were speaking in low voices.

  On the surface, there was nothing to see but I allowed myself to head in the direction my body wanted me to go. When I reached the dumpster, I crouched over. There was a small cardboard box, propped up on other boxes. I reached out and moved a piece of paper.

  A silver flash.

  A whiff of rotten tomatoes made me gag and I breathed shallowly through my mouth, inhaling as little air as I could as I moved a few more papers. There, underneath a ripped up newspaper, was a cell phone.

  The face was cracked, but when I hit the home button, a picture I was very familiar with smiled up at me. Paul's girlfriend, Mandy.

  Shit.

  Chapter 6

  "Hey, what do you have there?"

  The sound of my dad’s voice brought me back to reality. I realized he and Rob had stopped talking but I had no idea how long they’d been trying to get my attention. I had completely frozen when I'd seen Paul's phone lying on the ground, cracked and unattended.

  No way would he ever leave his phone behind intentionally.

  I held it up, absently noting my hand shaking.

  Rob grimaced, immediately pulling out a plastic baggy and taking it from me.

  "Oops."

  I probably wasn't supposed to touch it, but that hadn't crossed my mind when I'd seen it lying there.

  He waved my apology aside. "Don't worry about it. I'm sure your fingerprints are already on it," he added as an afterthought. "I'm assuming it is your friend’s phone?"

  I pressed my lips together and nodded, unable to choke the words past the lump in my throat. Dad put his hand on the back of my neck and squeezed it gently as he corroborated my find.

  "I recognize the girl. Paul's girlfriend, Mandy."

  I nodded, not sure what else to add. We knew he'd been taken. If this was his phone, they couldn’t use GPS or whatever to track his location via cell signals.

  Rob didn't look surprised and scanned the alley again.

  "So we can place your friend in the alley between two-thirty and two-forty-five last night. His phone was under the dumpster, and the gunshot vic was over there, about twenty feet away.”

  Something about the way Rob was listing the facts made me calmer. It was familiar, safe. I could almost convince myself it was a TV show about someone I didn't know and I was watching it from a distance.

  “My guess is your friend got the whole show."

  He looked at me and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. Somehow, I knew what he wanted me to say. Closing my eyes, I concentrated on what I remembered from the nightmare.

  "In my dream or whatever it was, he was being dragged out of a van. They scuffled and took him into the building. I don't know if he saw the whole thing or not. I think the vehicle was black, or maybe a dark blue. Paul tried to fight back.”

  For some reason, it was important he knew my friend wasn’t a wimp. Paul hadn’t given up without a struggle.

  Rob looked at me for a moment then nodded. "Mark, I get it. For the record, you don’t have to worry about me thinking your friend is a wimp. He saw something he wasn't supposed to and was taken because of that information. It could have happened to even a trained professional. And you don’t need to worry I’ll think any less of you for being afraid for your friend. I’m worried about him, too. Anyone willing to kill, and kidnap a witness, will certainly be willing to kill again."

  "So what do we do? How can we make sure that Paul isn't –" I swallowed, unable to finish my sentence.

  Rob searched my face, and a wave of reassurance washed over me as his piercing dark eyes read and calmed my worries.

  "We're going to use the information you saw in your dream. It sounds like you experienced events at the same time they were happening for whatever reason. You knew where he was taken, and you found his phone. I want you to take it and close your eyes. Focus on Paul.”

  To my surprise, he took the phone out of the bag and scanned the area again, making sure no one was watching before he handed it back to me.

  "Don't ever tell anyone I let you do that. But you're a finder, boy. You need to touch the real thing. We all know how important cell phones are to an eighteen-year-old boy, so it’s the best way to track him. I want you to focus on Paul when you hold it, and nothing else."

  I took the phone, but this time my hand felt strong. For the first time since waking up from the nightmare and asking my dad for help, I felt as if I was in the driver seat. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and concentrated.

  In the past, whenever I’d caught glimpses of missing objects, something had come to me in a flash. Almost like the way I’d found the phone. A glint, or a color, nothing big. Most of the time I’d been able to chalk it up to intuition or even a buried memory.

  But I’d never actively tried to find something, someone, before, and I wasn’t sure how to do it. So when the first thing I saw behind my closed eyelids was darkness, I assumed I wasn't seeing anything.

  Then I heard the noises.

  No, it wasn’t noise, it was...voices. Someone was talking behind a closed door, men. The voices became louder, angry. They were fighting about something. But what? Listening harder, I was able to catch a few words.

  "Stupid. You blew it.”

  “You’re the stupid... If you hadn't...”

  “Well, if you hadn't..."

  The voices faded into nothing as I opened my eyes and tried to make out the dim room. Turning my head from side to side, at first everything was black, except a faint gray line coming from somewhere above my head.

  No, make that two lines. As my eyes adjusted, I followed one of the lines to where it intersected the other to make up the outline of a door. As I accommodated further to the darkness, I could discern the faint shape of stairs leading down from the door.

  Wooden stairs.

  I shifted, and felt my body pressed on something cold and hard. The floor. The movement shot pain through my body, and suddenly, everything hurt.

  No, it wasn’t my body that hurt.

  When I looked down, I saw that I had quite literally put myself in someone else’s shoes. On my feet were a pair of red high tops. The same red high tops Paul had worn on Friday. Dreading what I would see next, I slowly traveled up the shoes to the legs, which were covered in ripped jeans with disturbing dark patches, all the way to the chest, which was rising and falling.

  I was seeing the world from Paul’s perspective.

  It was super disorienting, but I made myself focus on the details, instead of the nausea which had risen at the realization of where I/he was. Scanning the room in an attempt to garner something useful, I noticed a window to my right, near the top of the wall. It had bars, but between them I could just make out a bus stop.

  Squinting, I wondered if Paul was too far away for me to be able to read it. I could barely read Kensington, and was the number next to it a four? Or a forty? I was trying to decide which when the door flew open, blinding me with brilliant light.

  "Ouch!"

  My head was throbbing worse than it had the time Paul checked me into the boards in practice, and when I opened my eyes, it was to the sight of two concerned men staring down at me. I was on my knees, hands on my head. I hadn’t even felt myself fall down. My dad looked like he wanted to give me a hug, but Rob seemed pleased.

  "You saw him, didn't you?"

  His words were a statement, like he already knew the answer. With his powers, he probably did. But even so, I answered for the sheer need to get what I’d seen out of my head.

  "I did and I think I may know where the building is. There was a bus stop beside it, somewhere in Kensington."

  Rob pumped his fist in the air. "I knew it! Great job.”

  He looked around, once
again verifying we were alone before taking the phone back from me. He slid it back into the plastic bag, careful not to touch it any more than required, all while still wearing his gloves. I frowned, tilting my head to the side as I watched. Catching my gaze, he smiled.

  "It's easier for me to explain you picking up your buddy’s phone without gloves when you found it than if my prints are on it. Not only would that be hugely amateur, it would make some doubt my ability to be on the case. Now we have both evidence and an explanation. Next stop? Kensington."

  I wasn't sure how he was going to explain anything from what I’d said, but he didn’t volunteer any more information, and I wasn’t about to slow him down if he thought he knew something. If he believed my finding ability was accurate and Paul was in Kensington, the sooner we got to him, the better.

  Chapter 7

  It wasn't far between the convenience store and Kensington. I’d been here frequently in the past of course, more so since turning eighteen. It was a popular area for students near the University of Toronto, with fast, cheap food and a ton of hang out spots. Basically, a university student’s paradise.

  But today as the sun rose high in the sky, I saw it from a different perspective than normal. Part of it was the time of day. At six-thirty on a Saturday, only a few of the small grocery stores were opening for the day with fresh fruit and vegetables in baskets. The foot traffic was almost nonexistent and the streets were otherwise empty, giving the entire area a deserted atmosphere.

  Rob drove slowly, creeping around corners and side streets in a weird zig-zag. It took a moment before I realized he was waiting for me to recognize something from the vision.

  Was it a vision? I’d have to decide what to call it if I kept seeing things like that.

  "Is there something specific I should tell you about?"

  Maybe he was hoping I would spot the bus stop sign. I still didn’t know if it was a four or forty though, so wasn't sure how helpful it was going to be.

  He flashed a brief side grin at me in the passenger seat before looking ahead. "Waiting to see if something jogs your memory. Now, tell me again what you remember."

  I sighed, then recounted the story again. When I got to the part of the dream where I’d watched Paul being carried into the building, Rob stopped me.

  "Back up. I want you to try to describe the building. What did the side door look like? Could you see the front? The more information you can give me, no matter how small, the better."

  Grimacing, I closed my eyes. Trying to envision the building as I spoke, I retraced my steps from that night’s dream.

  "Well, I think the building was about two stories, maybe three. It wasn't right on the corner, maybe one or two buildings over? It had a wide sidewalk in front, and people were smoking and milling around a large roll-up door, almost like a garage at a service station would have. The music was loud and the whole place had a nineties-grungy feel to it.” I shook my head without opening my eyes. "The door wasn’t painted, just plain, corrugated steel."

  I could hear Rob hum thoughtfully beside me so I stopped.

  "No, keep going. I'm just thinking. It sounds familiar."

  "The building was dark, so I couldn't make out the color. It may have been grey, or maybe dark brown. The side door was definitely dark blue though."

  I opened my eyes, feeling drained. It was like I had emptied my brain out and now there was nothing left. Apparently, it was enough for Rob. He took one hand off the wheel and patted my shoulder.

  "Excellent work. Okay, so we’re looking for a two-story building, just off a corner in Kensington that has a large, steel garage door. There’s a bus stop visible from the building and you saw two large men with a dark-colored van."

  He glanced at me for verification and I nodded.

  "Any chance you remember the license plate?" My dad spoke up.

  I shook my head. “No, I couldn't get it. Maybe if I’d seen it we’d already know who took him.”

  I couldn’t help the note of defeat. The bits and pieces I’d been able to see paled in comparison to what I felt I should know. Maybe if I was better at this, the police would have found him already.

  Rob turned the corner, his voice brusque as he scolded me. "I don’t want to hear you speak like that. There's another witness, remember? They didn’t see the license plate either.” I flinched, calming as he softened his tone. “If they’d been able to see even a few numbers, we could run them. They didn’t see anything either. Feeling guilty has no place in finding, and can make you doubt what you do see. You use what you get to find what you need to find. We’ve already learned far more from you than what we found on-scene, and those people are the experts.”

  I nodded, trying to let myself believe him. But even as the logical part of my brain accepted his gentle reprimand, I still felt responsible. I should have done something. Maybe if Paul had come to hockey with me, he wouldn't be in this situation. Then again, it wasn’t like I could've kept him from getting a summer job.

  "Can you tell us anything about the men who took Paul?" My dad put a hand on my shoulder.

  I was grateful for the change in topic. It gave me something else to focus on. "They were both bigger than him and a lot older, maybe in their thirties? One guy was about six inches taller, the other one was about the same height. They had dark hair, and one guy had a long scar on his chin that I saw in the headlights. The shorter guy had a tattoo on the knuckles of his right hand.” I swallowed hard, remembering I’d seen it when he’d knocked Paul out. “Oh, and he’s right-handed.”

  "That's good,” Rob said. “Did they say anything?"

  When I shook my head, he caught my eye and smiled. Warmth filled me suddenly. It was nice to know he understood how I was feeling. I'd never realized it before, but one of the hardest things to do was to try and explain your thoughts to someone else.

  With Rob though, he got it. I didn’t have to tell him I was worried for my friend or try to explain the guilt I felt. He already knew. And even with all the negative emotions swirling inside my head, he still looked at me exactly the same way he had from the beginning. Calm, without judgement, and with a wisdom that reminded me a little of Buddhist monks I’d seen in the movies.

  At that moment, I knew there was nothing I could do or say that would change that and I relaxed. We drove up and down the streets for another twenty minutes just above a crawl. It was a good thing it was so early, or we would have backed up traffic and irritated other drivers. Hardly a great way to stay unnoticed.

  The roads were quiet and the side streets empty except for the sound of birds in the trees and legions of squirrels. The sun was heating up, promising another warm day ahead, and I began to wonder if I’d been completely wrong about the bus stop as we turned down College Avenue.

  A small grocery store looked almost abandoned on the corner until I spotted two bleary-eyed backpackers leaving a youth hostel heading toward it. I looked up, and the flag on the roof of the hostel caught my eye, drawing it toward the sign on the front. College Backpackers was spelled out in bright red.

  Just behind the sign for the hostel was the building from my dream.

  Chapter 8

  "Stop! That's it!"

  I felt my dad startle in the seat behind us, but Rob hardly moved. Other than to put on his blinker and head to the right, he was calm as he continued past the hostel and the next building, cruising about halfway down the block before pulling over to the curb under a shady oak tree.

  He turned the car off, meeting my dad’s eyes through the rear view mirror, the same way they had done so many times already today, then turned to me.

  "Here's where things are going to get a little dangerous."

  He narrowed his eyes, assessing me with the penetrating gaze which had struck fear in me at the start. I knew he was reading me to see if I had what he thought it would take and held my breath, deciding I must've passed when he turned my dad.

  "I think he's ready. Are you?"

  My head whipped a
round as my dad rubbed the back of his neck.

  "Is a father ever ready for something like this? But yeah. If you think he’s good, I'm not going stop him, especially given how important this is." Turning to me, he gave me a stern look. "Mark, I want you to do everything exactly as Rob tells you to. This isn't a game, and it isn't a movie. These guys have real bullets and I don’t want to see you hurt.”

  "I know, Dad. I'll be careful." I looked at him, suddenly wondering if he needed as much support as I did right now.

  "You're always careful.” He gave me a faint smile. “It's the other guys I'm worried about. People are unpredictable when backed into a corner." He turned to Rob. "What’s your plan?"

  Rob handed him a radio. “I want you to keep this. Wait until we’ve reached the door to the building, then call dispatch."

  When he nodded and clipped the radio to his belt without comment, I frowned. "You know how to work it?"

  My dad wrinkled his nose then exhaled deeply. "I haven't been completely honest with you about some of what’s involved in my work. That conversation will have to wait until another time. Let’s just say I’ve got this and it isn't the first time I've been put into a tight situation."

  With that, he leaned forward, pushed up his pant leg, and pulled a small silver handgun out of the holster on his ankle.

  "Dad? What the hell? Isn't it illegal to –"

  My eyes flicked between Rob and my dad again, only this time I caught a hint of a smile on the detective’s face before he hid it.

  "I have a license." My dad said, quietly.

  "For concealed carry? In Canada? I didn't think anybody could get that."

  My dad bit his lip before giving me a sheepish smile. "You can...if you’re involved in law enforcement. Like I said, it's another thing we'll talk about later. I was hoping to keep it quiet until your brother was older, but looks like that cat’s out of the bag."