Chuck has us talking about Real Estate - but there's different types of that isn't there? So, I did some soul searching; and after I recently found out that one of my friends committed suicide last week... this really does make you wonder what happens to our souls.
“So, which one do you have in mind?” her voice interrupted my thoughts as I looked through the book open on the table.
“Um... will it make a difference once I’ve chosen?” I looked up at her.
“What do you mean? Once you’ve picked one, we’ll sort through them all, find it and install it – and you’ll be home and hosed.” She shrugged, “Nobody’s ever asked me this kinda question before.”
I sat in the cramped quarters of the visitors room where my lawyer was permitted to talk to me while my parole hearing was being looked into next door.
They were taking their time.
This made me nervous.
But there was real estate to look at – and if my lawyer was offering this up, I guess it meant it was going well.
There was a knock at the door and she turned, stood and walked to answer. The guard whispered something to her and I looked back down at the book of choices I had in front of me again.
The door closed and she sat across from me again, putting another book next to me. She’s never done this before – and I wondered how that came to be, cocking my eyebrows in question.
“They’re taking longer, which means you have more time to look; and I can offer you more options. This is good.” She smiled warmly.
I could almost see the knife in her hand. She was going to smile and grin and get me on her side then stab me in the back, telling me had no options and they were going to throw me back in – no real estate options, no job, no nothing! “Right... more options.”
You see, I was sent to prison for something I didn’t do. And I’ve been sitting here rotting away for the past decade – being up for parole every two years – and they’ve yet to let me out. However, it’s the future, and in this day and age, they can take your soul away from you and make it so you don’t care about what happens to you.
But, I’m not exactly Human. I never had a soul to begin with, and what they took from me wasn’t my soul – it was my Grace. Yep, I’m an Angel, and it recharged over the years I’ve been here. They took away from me what they thought was a ‘dangerous weapon’ – it was my Angel Blade – and I couldn’t show what I was in case I was spotted by the demons in the prison (yes, I can see them and they can spot me as well).
However, now, they want to put a soul into my vessel and it won’t work on a being such as myself; and how am I to explain this to my lawyer? I looked up at her as she rubbed at her wrist painfully, wincing at it.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
She looked up at me, “My last client broke my wrist – I think. He was being an asshole.”
“I used to be a medic, let me have a look.” I put my hand out and she allowed me to touch her arm gently, and I could feel it wasn’t broken, “It’s badly sprained.” I really wanted to fix it for her, but I couldn’t, not with a camera in the room; and I sighed.
She looked at me, “What?”
“You want to give me a soul; when I really don’t need one.” I said.
“They took a soul out of you when you were brought in.”
Slowly I shook my head, “No, they didn’t. I never had a soul. My vessel’s soul has already gone home.”
The look of disbelief crossed her face before she pulled her arm back, she leaned back in her seat, “What are you?”
“I can fix your arm... but,” I glanced up at the all-seeing camera in the corner of the room and back at her, “...I don’t want it shown to everyone on the news.”
Her eyes widened, a whisper fell from her lips: “You’re not Human, are you?”
I didn’t know what to say which would scare her, so I looked to my hands, then back to her, “I can fix your arm.”
“How did you get incarcerated?”
“Wrong place, wrong time.” I half-smiled, “And I didn’t want to freak out the cops, then before I knew it, I was inside for all this time.”
Standing, she walked over to the camera and unplugged it from the wall, the red light blinking off. Then, she sat across from me again, sliding her sore arm over to me, “Show me.”
“What are you going to do for me?”
“I’ll get you out of here, get back what they took from you.” She whispered.
“Don’t worry about the Grace, I’ve recharged... it’s not like a soul, I just have to stop using my powers and it’ll come back.” A smile touched my lips, “I’ll be okay.”
“But the Grace they have of yours, is it dangerous?”
I nodded, “I will need it. But a phone call to the Soul Keeper will suffice.”
I looked up at her, “Yes. If a Grace or soul needs protecting, a Soul Keeper of God’s Garrison is called upon to care for it.” When she didn’t reply, I continued, “You didn’t seriously think all those souls your government have in cold storage back there were hidden, did you?”
“You know where they are?”
“Of course. But first things first, you must get me out of here, then I’ll fix your arm.”
“But a soul...”
I closed the book, pushing it away from me, “I have no interest in a soul I no long need. I need my Grace and you are going to help me get it.”
There was knock at the door and the lawyer jumped at the noise, “Yes, I will.” She stood and answered the door. The guard handed her a piece of paper and closed the door. She read it, looked at me and smiled, “You’re parole has been granted.”
“I know. Who do you think was on the board? Now, give me your arm as you’ll need to be in better shape than you’re in.” I stood and walked to her.
Looking at the door, I didn’t want to tell her, but I did: “Because the guard out there is possessed by a demon and his main job is to kill you. Mine is to protect you.” I touched her arm, and felt it fix and mend as I spoke, then looking up at her, and her shocked expression, I smiled a little, “Are you ready?”
I put my hand on the door knob: “To save some souls – but really to save yours in particular.”