The Soul Collector

Chapter THREE

Thus, the angel of his soul shall see the light�

An unfamiliar fluttering began in her chest and it didn't take long to realize her heart had accelerated to nearly unheard proportions. A distinct breathlessness assailed her as the limpid depths of his slate gray eyes captivated her, causing her to struggle to regain her voice. Despite the physical attraction she experienced, Eva suffered an unwarranted sense of déjà vu, and wondered if she’d met him previously.

“Mr. Angeles,”�She responded in kind, her tone forced and civil. He remained where he stood, staring at her, but didn't extend his hand in greeting. His lack of action further accentuated the notated no-touching rule.

Déjà vu her ass!

Pulling her gaze from his face, Eva longed to kick herself. She wanted to scream at her own stupidity, believing she’d spent far too many hours watching that damned television program! If she’d met him before tonight, she would've remembered the event with absolute clarity. She wouldn’t forget a man as stunning as Luke Angeles, or his scintillating effect on her sex-starved nerves.

“I feel I should say the pleasure is mine.”

Dazed, she tried to focus on his face, and had to blink. She ran a trembling hand over the back of her neck, attempting to find something else to say.

Her reaction appeared to have the oddest effect on him. After viewing three complete seasons of available video of his television show, Luke Angeles did the one thing Eva had never seen him do.

He gave her a sincere smile. His smile performed a miraculous transformation, lending a surreal quality to the coldness of the metallic color of his eyes.

“You didn't believe I would make an appearance?”

“In reality, no,”�Eva responded, finding her voice. She shifted in her seat, trying to ease the uncomfortable ache in her lower regions.

“I would never leave you stranded on a live interview, Miss Keyes,” he affirmed, his soft tone teasing. “My absence would make for bad publicity.”

“How considerate,” her brows lifted as she examined him. As suddenly as his smile appeared, it vanished.

“It would've been horrid exposure for you, as well as my people.” He reverted to his overly sober self, all preconceived warm-heartedness vanishing.

“It was gracious for you to think of possibility.” She couldn't contain her obvious bite of sarcasm and winced.

“My absolute pleasure,” he seemed unconcerned by her tone, and continued to stare at her with his intriguing eyes. She shifted again, grateful the urge to pounce on him had ebbed, and the analytical part of her mind shifted into gear.

“As I said, it was kind of you to show.” It was moments before her scheduled program would begin, and Eva was grateful he made an appearance. Out of the corner of her eye, she took note of the floor crew signaling the direction where her primary camera would be located.

“Kindness had nothing to do with the forethought,” She sensed he was merely passing pleasantries with her as he moved to the chair across from her.

“Still, Mr. Angeles,” she attempted to speak, her attention distracted.

“I would prefer it if you would use my given name.”

…Luke

While he took his seat and arranged his long length into a comfortable position, Eva shuddered. She glanced at the bright set lights surrounding her and wondered about the set's chill. Normally, she would've been overheated, the radiant heat from the overhead bulbs resembling to a sauna's intensity.

Instead, her body quivered, attempting to keep warm. She lowered her eyes and repeated his name, unaware of the foggy breath escaping her. As the set became colder, she stifled another shudder. Her gaze focused on his expressionless features, and she experienced the most peculiar ringing in her inner ear. Somewhere in her conscious mind, she heard a male voice, whispering a suggestion she couldn't avoid.

…Luke

…perhaps it’s Lucas?

…no, that ain’t right

The voice within her head exhaled and could almost feel a whisper of chilled breath on her neck. She shivered again, nearly biting her tongue.

….Luke

“Luke,” she reiterated the name mechanically. The voice in her inner ear stilled, satisfied she pronounced the name aloud. She was pleased the sounds halted, and then stifled an unhappy groan. Just as unexpectedly, the same whisperings grumbled anew.

…no, not Luke

“Tell me, Mr. Angeles, does Luke stand for a much longer name?”

He focused on the play of lights beating overhead before shifting to the numerous television cameras. The floor crew appeared and there was a flurry of activity. Eva, after years of interviews, was immune to the noise.

Instead, she wondered if she’d be required to repeat her question as she waited for his response.

He rewarded her with an incredibly tight-lipped smile that barely succeeded in pulling at his mouth. The colorless shadow of his brows rose, and she blushed, grateful as a sound technician eased past. The tech dropped a lavaliere mike on the table closest to her guest. She noticed he appeared strangely agitated and eager to escape Angeles’ presence.

“Do you want me to wear this microphone?” Luke questioned and picked the item up from the table, the equipment’s dark plastic a sharp contrast against his flesh.

“Mr. Angeles, lav mikes are excellent devices for recording sound. Just about every news reporter on television uses them and their invaluable in the field,” she inserted with an edge of marked frustration. “Certainly, you wear them during your show?”

“I'm afraid not, my dear,” Luke rolled the ebony clip between his fingers.

“Then, I might suggest their use,” she frowned again. “These mikes are small and clip unobtrusively onto your shirt or jacket. They’re available in hard-wired and wireless setups, so sound clarity is captured regardless of where you might be located.”

“I prefer to have my crew use a shotgun mike mounted on a boom.”

It was clear he didn't like having the miniature device hooked to his collar, notwithstanding that the mechanism would be almost undetectable against his clothing.

“If you use the lav mike, you wouldn't have to bring along extra crew members to operate the boom and monitor sound,” Eva suggested. “Your show’s sound return would be far superior.”

He didn't respond, his attention intent on the mike. Purposely, he positioned the lav mike on the collar of his turtleneck, clipping it into place. She watched while he skillfully situated the transmitter in the small of his back, before reclining comfortably into his seat.

“Miss Keyes, at the risk of repeating myself, I prefer my own equipment,” he answered, although he didn't look at her. “There are some instances where I would prefer not to have every word leaving my mouth recorded.”

You’re a blasted stubborn man! She thought ungraciously.

“In any case, Miss Keyes, I'm afraid I must have missed it,” he responded laconically, lifting one colorless brow at her sudden confusion.

“Missed what?”

“I assumed some little bird flew by and whispered my name into your lovely ears,” he seemed to be mocking her, and she bristled.

“Since you reminded me, I do believe you didn't answer my question,” she pointed out, not permitting him the slightest edge.

He sighed. He seemed unaffected by the chill on the set, despite the fact the television crew shivered where they stood. He remained obviously patient, as if he were a parent dealing with an overly inquisitive child.

“If you must know, my dear woman, Luke is a diminutive of my actual name,” he responded, reclining into the comfort of his seat. Effectively, he cut the questioning short, but Eva was stubborn.

“What is Luke short for?”

“I feel we shall simply suffice with Luke,” his eyes lifted skyward again, appearing to beseech the heavens for escape. Once more, she experienced a startling sense of frustration, and wondered if he was avoiding her gaze.

She sighed, knowing she was pushing the limits of the meeting. She didn't know why she bristled in his company. Whatever it was about him, she only had to suffer through an hour of the torture. Once the interview was over, she could go back to her normal life, watching him on his ridiculous television show. Pointedly, she stared at her notes, gathering her scattered thoughts.

She was unable to focus on the scribbled words. Feigning studiousness, Eva dissected the thoughts flying into her mind, covertly watching the seated man. He spoke in an outdated manner, and his speech pattern reflected a European upbringing, one she hadn’t detected during her review of his show.

Definitely, Luke Angeles wasn’t American.

Another fact she noticed---he didn't extend his hand toward her in any form of greeting. The lack of shaking hands confused her, the gesture one repeated all over the world. Angeles, adhering to his no-touching rule, wouldn’t even extend the common courtesy.

As she mulled the thought over, she remembered he always wore gloves, even during his program. Tonight, Eva couldn't fail to notice the exquisiteness of his expensive leather driving gloves. She knew, from watching of Those Among Us, that he didn't drive!

She lifted her troubled eyes from her paperwork and blushed, realizing his cold eyes had returned to her. He appeared calm and complacent, his pallid features expressionless. Frantically, she strove to regain her composure scant seconds before she heard the director's shout they were minutes from being on air.

She inhaled, gulping in a fortifying breath, placing her notes to one side. She attempted to dispel the chill and straightened in her chair, seeking the glow of the teleprompter. Patiently, she awaited the floor crew to remind her of which camera to smile graciously into as Keyes to New York began broadcasting.

“I have with me today, Luke Angeles, bestselling author, renowned paranormal investigator, and host of Those Among Us.” Eva began in her smoothest and most dulcet of tones. She turned in her seat and focused on him, her expression rapt, and ignored the rapid thudding of her heart. She pasted an angelic smile on her lips, mentally wishing to steal a part of her guest’s equanimity.

“Tell me, Mr. Angeles, what makes someone become a paranormal investigator?” She began, and her love of journalism far outweighed the oddly lustful sensations assailing her. “Was this particular profession one you’ve harbored since childhood?”

His pale eyes seemed to dance wickedly in the blinding glare of the overhead lights.

“No, my profession was never a childhood wish,” his expression was somber. “Instead, one fateful evening made me decide on this calling.”

“So, ghost hunting was something you wanted to do, after completing college?” She was throwing out bait, but she hoped to glean a bit more about her enigmatic guest.

“I didn't pursue a college education, Miss Keyes,” he informed her in the most sedate of voices. “I preferred to sit in on classes.”

“You sat in?”

“Yes, I did.” The admission hung in the air.

“Why?” She couldn’t contain her curiosity. “Why did you sit in, instead of attending the local university? There’s plenty of programs out there, scholarships, grants, loans…”

“My financial stability never prevented me, Miss Keyes.” he smiled at her, his lips quirking with the interruption.

“Then, why?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Trust me,” she countered spontaneously. “My viewers would be thrilled to know what makes you tick.”

Her comment caused him to smirk and shake his head. “I won’t bore you with details of my past.”

Damn it, she wanted him to bore her! She bit her lip, gracing him with a piercing stare that blatantly said, “You need to talk.”

“At one time, a novel frenzy seized the civilized world’s imagination,” he began, and she wasn’t certain if he were merely gathering momentum. “The belief in the paranormal was a phenomenon that began in the early stages of the nineteen twenties, when séances and table rapping became all the rage.”

“Any historian could tell me that…”

“Questioning individuals dwell on this earth, Miss Keyes, and they long for an explanation into the paranormal. People seek intimate contact with a spiritual world they don’t comprehend. They’re insatiable, desperate to learn everything available of the plane existing beyond human experience.”

If his fan base were anything to judge by, he was correct.

“The subject of paranormal studies is a maddening craze. There are classes offered at the local universities, the rooms filled with intelligent students who don’t find the paranormal a ridiculous hoax.”

“Instead of taking these classes, you hung out in the wings?”

“I lingered in the shadows during late night lectures, when the classes were hosted by brilliant and gifted instructors.”

He left the sentence hanging, and Eva knew she could fill in the information. Yes, there were brilliant instructors, such as his Mr. Linton. More often than not, many teachers were ridiculous fools who proclaimed knowledge of the world’s paranormal eccentricities. Their observations caused countless people to stifle outraged laughter at the outright ludicrousness of the subject.

“I can admit becoming a paranormal investigator is not a wish,” he continued, and Eva had to restrain starting at the suddenness of his words. “It is a profession that basically falls into your lap.”

“Really?” She asked, her brows lifting.

“Perhaps I should say hands?” He interjected, his own clenching into fists. “There must be an interest, an all-consuming belief in the afterlife and spirituality, drawing a person to this profession.”

Smooth, Mr. Angeles, you’re oh so very smooth.

“Do you consider ghost hunting a viable profession?” The seriousness of her expression unconsciously mirrored his.

“Ah, yes,” he smiled, clearly warming. The action caused her to sit back and anxiously tap her finger to her right earlobe. She detected an odd hum in the orifice, which was rising to a deafening crescendo. “Paranormal investigating is a profession, Miss Keyes, a hobby, and an obsession. If you don’t believe me, you should ask the same questions to the nearly eight thousand self-proclaimed paranormal investigators throughout the United States, and the millions of believers worldwide.”

Eva slid her hand back to her lap. The hum within her ear became incessant, although the tone returned to the low reverberation just fractions beneath of her own voice. She felt the sudden urge to ask the questions as they came to her, unrehearsed, and unscripted.

“Mr. Angeles,” she was aware he minutely winced at her refusal to use his first name. “I’ll admit I’ve watched every episode of your show, and I would like to ask you the one question all your fans want to know.”

He quirked a colorless brow, the glow in his eyes somewhat amused. “What would that be?”

“What would it take to be on your team of investigators?”

“I would have to say credibility,” he answered without a moment's hesitation. “A person must truly believe in what they’re investigating. Neither my team, nor myself, have time for those who feel the paranormal is limited to the insane.”

“Beyond the credibility, would the classes offered at most universities be of any benefit on a resume?”

“When I became an investigator, I found the newly offered courses the equivalent to attending hour after hour with an expensive psychologist. The classes are a blatant waste of money for what is truly within a person.”

Eva winced, knowing there would be a few telephone calls to the station by morning. Every therapist on the Eastern seaboard would be up in arms, furious over this single person's televised observation.

“What other qualities would you deem important?” She questioned, hoping to salvage the moment.

“Physical and mental capacities are a necessity for any well trained investigator,” he responded unwaveringly. Angeles touched his fingertips to his forehead, emphasizing his point. “Paranormal investigating is mentally demanding. I can't stress the importance of the psychological strength essential for one who wishes to pursue this type of employment.”

“Why would that be necessary?”

“The active involvement a person has in this line of work draws on the numerous fears dwelling inside us. These fears must be confronted. Perhaps I should say conquered, whenever a situation arises. I’ve discovered, in the paranormal scene, it’s the hidden childhood fears that tend to dominate over innate common sense.”

“Childhood fears?” She waited for him to continue.

“In a whole, humanity thrives on the fear of the unexplained. The ensuing adrenaline rush becomes a drug to many people, or a hindrance.”

“Would it be similar to the fascination one has, if they are fans of roller coasters, or horror movies?”

He gave her an enigmatic smile, his eyes fathomless.

“Exactly, and the simplest of fears will always lurk within the subconscious. A human being either learns to embrace those fears, much as a roller coaster enthusiast does, or opt to avoid the terror with an all-consuming passion.”

“What fears do you find most prevalent in a person interested in paranormal investigating?”

“There’s the primary fear we all obtain as children, which haunts us into adulthood,” he began seriously. “This fear, the unexplained and irrational fear of those lurking in the dark, always lingers.”

Eva controlled her urge to laugh. “That is, as you said, childish!”

“Nonetheless, it’s a rational fear.” He stressed with ease, which immediately swept her laughter away. Grateful the camera wasn't pointed at her, she grimaced. She longed to laugh at the absurdity of his statement, but found a grain of truth in his observation.

“Although humans advance into adulthood, fears from our past are difficult to ignore. These doubts a paranormal investigator must learn to overcome,” he frowned, his colorless brows furrowing. She stilled the cynical quirk of her lips and painfully bit at the inside of her cheek. “I despise the person who approaches a situation with a false bravado that may jeopardize the entire unit.”

She caught the underlying note of censure and longed to stick her tongue out at him. Immediately, she felt she was beginning to lose control of her professionalism. “What if the novice investigator feels the need to hide these fears so he may fit in with your perception?”

“All I ask of an investigator is an open mind, and to embrace their need to explore the unknown. Neither I, nor my crew, will ridicule anyone for his or her uncertainties. Reservations are a defining portion of our identity, and my investigators never go into a situation without divulging those idiosyncrasies.”

“Tell me, in all honesty,” she leaned forward, her gaze intent. “Do you suffer from any of these fears, Mr. Angeles?”

“My dear Miss Keyes, I’ll admit I suffer fears a normal human being would never comprehend,” he admitted in a low voice. “I embraced my fears many years ago.”

“Have you?”

“Ah, yes. Even though uncertainties linger beneath the surface of my persona, I won’t allow anxiety to interfere with my work.” The firmness of his response startled her. Eva expected the great Luke Angeles to be dauntless. He always projected himself as self-confident and stouthearted, even during the most bizarre of broadcasts.

As she mulled over her thoughts, he continued, his expression guarded. “There’s a fine line between having fears and being able to control them, or having them control you. Regardless of reasons driving you to become a paranormal investigator, there will be moments where you must control those emotions with a vengeance.”

“What if the ability is missing?”

“If one of my investigators fails to control his baser instincts, he jeopardizes the entire investigation. I wouldn't find it acceptable to have a crewmember endangering the safety, credibility, or enjoyment of his fellow researcher.”

“Mr. Angeles, is there really much pleasure in fumbling about in the dark?” She prevented herself from rolling her eyes. NADGEL’s investigations were executed at night, at strange sites, and in absolute darkness. Their sole source of light was the solitary glow of the flashlights and infrared cameras each investigator carried.

“Fumbling about?” He appeared to find the comment amusing before he sobered. “As long as your fears don’t control you, yes, there's an inexplicable enjoyment. Perhaps, the sensation can be likened to an adrenaline rush. There’s the sense of the unknown, the longing to discover what lingers on the fringe of human existence.”

“Are you ever doubtful about a proposed site?”

“Always,” he affirmed without hesitation. “There’s more enjoyment if a site is entered with a sense of skepticism. Disbelief affords the opportunity for an investigator to remain removed from the situation.”

“Do you research the sites you investigate?”

“Basic background information about the site is noted. I urge my crew not to delve too deeply into legends and myths. The locale is far more important,” he responded candidly, reminding her more of a studious college professor. “I believe, when too aware of the tales surrounding the area, a person’s objectiveness becomes contaminated.”

“What would you say has caused the phenomenal success of Those Among Us?”

“There are millions of people that believe in the world existing beyond what we see with the naked eye. My crew and I offer that link to the unknown, and offer explanations. We are that connection to the paranormal, and our fans seek explanations only we can provide.”

Okay, she thought, he was creepy and a little too self-assured.

“Is there anything else that contributes to the international success of your show?”

“Communication and camaraderie is the key to the program's worldwide success,” he provided effortlessly. “My team’s various forms of knowledge are phenomenal in an investigation. I’ve always endeavored to understand what they observe, and how they feel when a certain situation arises.”

“How would you say the connection is between yourself and the other investigators?”

“I would hope we’ve a created a strong bond,” he continued easily, as if he had rehearsed each answer provided. Briefly, he spoke of his associates and their various fields of knowledge. Eva detected an underlying respect in his words, noting he appeared more proud of his partners than the television program.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the quick hand sign delivered by her producer. Unprepared for time to elapse so rapidly, she hadn’t realized the close of the hour was nearby. Luke Angeles noticed her momentary distraction and graced her with a tight-lipped smile.

“Was there anything else you wished to discuss, Miss Keyes?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” she responded boldly, a series of questions burning in her mind. “As the head of NADGEL, do you truly believe in the paranormal? Do you think you're capable of seeing spirits?”

“Why, Miss Keyes, what an unprofessional question!” The sting in his words was evident. “I had held such high hopes for a young woman of your esteemed caliber.”

Painfully she blushed, the ringing increasing in her ears to a nearly mind numbing pitch. She didn't hear the marked gasps of disbelief from the floor crew, nor did she heed the frantic hand signals of her producer from the set wings. Luke Angeles was correct, and she’d done the unmentionable, Eva Keyes had overstepped professional boundaries.

“Do you truly believe in what you investigate, Mr. Angeles?” She persisted, even as a slight wave of nausea struck her.

“Do you, Miss Keyes?”

“I don't believe in phantoms.” The words were an effort to pronounce, each syllable thick in her throat.

“Not in the slightest sense?”

“No.” The camera panned in her direction. She kept her features tranquil, even as a wave of heat flooded her chilled flesh.

A slight smile touched the thin line of his lips. “I dare you, Miss Keyes, to join my team for an investigation.”

“You dare me?” She asked, flabbergasted, his words sending an additional cold chill over her flushed skin.

“Oh, yes, I dare you,” he reaffirmed smoothly. “I dare you to join me.”

“I don't believe in the spiritual world,” the brightness of her gaze dropped as her producer signaled a commercial break. The camera didn’t move and her stunned expression was visible to every person viewing the night's broadcast.

“You don't believe in that voice?” His words were a simple whisper and nearly undetectable, even to the sensitive lav mike.

….having trouble, Noah. Mike seems to be on the fritz…

“What voice?”

….Eva, there's a problem with your mike. We keep getting some sort of feedback…

“Do you believe in the voice whispering in your ear?”

…Ignore it, there's only the wrap up of the show left…

It was impossible that he knew of the incessant buzzing that had become a throaty whispering in her inner ear. Eva shuddered, an increasing frisson of cold filling her, and faintly heard the voices shouting across the set. She was unaware her reaction had been captured by the television camera with a chilling clarity.

“Have faith in me, Evangeline,”�Luke Angeles whispered throatily. She blinked in bewilderment at the sound of her given name falling so easily from his lips. She felt another quiver assail her and raised bright eyes to him.

How could he have known? There wasn't anyone in society, besides a select few close associates and her immediate family that knew her actual identity.

“How do you know my name?”

“I know a lot about you, Evangeline Keegan. I know more than you’d be capable of understanding in this lifetime, or the next.” HIs lips curved into a semblance of a cryptic smile. Her eyes flew from his face to the set-hand flashing raised fingers, signaling the end of the commercial break.

“I don't know how you found out…” she sputtered, outraged.

“Listen to the voice,” he coaxed hypnotically. “Pay attention, Evangeline. He, alone, will tell you my true identity.”

She shivered. The hum that resounded in her ears vanished and a throaty whisper replaced it. Eva closed her eyes, her mind aching, striving to breathe as she focused on the soft enunciations. A single word formed, one that spiraled within her dazed mind, and leapt to the tip of her tongue.

“Do you believe in disembodied spirits?” Luke Angeles persisted.

She was close enough to realize, although it appeared he was looking at her, his attention remained riveted to a point just beyond her. A word settling on the tip of her tongue tingled, longing for release, the faintest sound of laughter invading the multitude of murmuring filling her mind.

Dimly, Eva realized a change sweeping over him. The camera didn’t detect the alteration, for he kept his face in profile. The cold grayness of his eyes vanished and, instead, the color became the most unsettling shade of sable, hungrily consuming the clarity of the orbs.

“If you believe, Evangeline, he'll give you my name.”

…Lucien�