Collector

Adam was furious. He was furious because he ha been insulted and humiliated. He wanted to get inside and shoot One Leg Bill, him and his buddies. They all deserved to die. No one had a right to treat him like that. No one had ever done anything like that to him. No one of the living.
He had never been more humiliated in his life. Yet he was the only one to be blamed. He didn't want to admit that but the truth was that it had been his own fault. He shouldn't have come here in the first place and he had been well aware of that. He shouldn't have even thought about coming here again but again he had. How many times had he promised himself not to gamble again? A hundred? A thousand? Damn! It had been coming. It must have happened anyways. Sooner or later they had to throw him out.
That evening Adam had been playing Black Jack. At the beginning he was lucky and he doubled the two hundred he had come with. Then they changed the dealer and he began to lose. Little by little he lost everything to the last cent. Perhaps, he had to simply get up and walk away but he hadn't. When Adam had asked One Leg Bill to lend him some money in the past, the latter had never refused. But that night it was different.
Adam didn't know what kind of baloney had been said about him but when he asked Bill to borrow him a hundred till next week, the bustard just grinned and told him to get away. First, Adam thought that Bill was simply playing old stupid jokes of his and asked him for money again but it turned up that Bill was serious, deadly serious. He called for the bouncers and they dragged Adam outside as if he were some hobo. No pleasantries, no explanations. They threw him out and threatened to break every bone of his would he ever show his nose at the club again. No, he was not going to let it go like that. He would come back and teach them a lesson. Adam grinned and felt better.
As soon as the first wave of anger passed, he realized that he was getting cold, even more than that, he was freezing. He wore blue jeans, a shirt, and a wool sweater and that was it. He didn't have money to get a cab neither could he stay there any longer, he started to shiver badly. He had to go. The idea of returning home walking didn't appear very attractive but was he given a choice?
The shortest route to his house lain first across the industrial zone, then through the Somerset park to the Lion Bridge, from there he had to pass through the Old Town to the West Bridge and from the bridge more ten blocks and he would be home. Adam had never done it before but he was in a good shape and calculated that the marathon would take two hours or so. That wasn't bad and the exercise even though it wasn't not what he wanted to do would be good for him. Soon after he started to walk, he felt warm and the cold air was rather cheering and helpful and kept him going.
He reached the Lion Bridge without trouble. What was a little odd was the complete absence of traffic. Not a single car or van had passed by. Adam thought that probably the City had closed the main roads for maintenance and the traffic was detoured. Nothing extraordinary, nothing to worry about. Whether was there a car or not, he was broke.
The rain caught him off guard when Adam was right in the middle of the Lion bridge. There was nowhere to hide and Adam got wet to the skin almost instantly. When the rain stopped, Adam pulled out his wet, heavy sweater and his shirt. He wrung them as thoroughly as he only could and wore them back. Now if he didn't want to get pneumonia, he had to move fast, very fast. Another half hour and he would be home.
Adam crossed a small square and stopped to catch his breath by the vast, marble stairs of the ancient cathedral; he finally got to the Old Town. In the silent darkness of the night the old edifice looked eerie and even somewhat frightening. Adam raised his head to the old watch. Quarter to three. Damn, he would have only a couple of hours to sleep. The Dutchmen would wait for him at the Sterling Wharf if he didn't show up at seven thirty. He would have to be there at any cost. He couldn't let them down. If he was not to turn up on time, they would skin him alive and then throw him to feed the crabs in the Gulf. Hadn't they done so to Micky last year? Hell, they had! Adam shrugged remembering what he'd seen when the police divers had fished out what had left of poor Mickey.
A sudden wail from somewhere behind him made Adam jolt and he felt as a needle of sharp pain jabbed his heart. He almost fainted and descended helplessly on the cold marble of the stairs. When the pain was gone and got up slowly and looked around. The place was empty and dim. Adam cursed and slowly walked away.
Right behind the cathedral there were three narrow streets though it wasn't proper to call these causeways 'streets'. Adam knew that only one would lead him through and the two others were cul-de-sac and ended dead by the old city wall. The problem was he couldn't remember which of them was the right one. Last and only time he had been here had happened twenty years ago when his late father had taken him out to show the Old Town. He had been only seven back then and the place had scared him with its claustrophobically narrow streets and odd, rare smell, which Adam unexplainably associated with death. He was a grown-up now but still he felt uneasy being surrounded by these time-worn, silent houses. They had been built wall-to-wall and there were no space between them. Each street was more of a concrete sack: a long, dark wall on both sides.
Two streets had no lightening at all and were submerged in almost complete darkness. Only one was illuminated with bizarrely shaped lanterns suspended from the walls. Adam hesitated for a while but finally entered a narrow opening between two towering walls of the old houses. Adam noticed that at some point the asphalt had ended and now he was walking on the cobblestone. And the lamps were not electrical but oil. It was strange.
Flames behind the dirty glass were twinkling dimly filling the street with ever-changing shadows. The silence was almost absolute. All he could hear were echoing sounds of his own steps and chattering of his teeth. He was cold again.
The cold was seizing him more and more with his every step. He had to move faster but he couldn't, he was tired. Adam slowed his gait. The cobblestone under his feet was uneven and he stumbled a few times over protruding stones. To increase the misery of his situation the space around him started to fill with mist. Adam cursed.
Shortly the fog became so thick that he could not see anything. The damn mist was blinding him, making him handicapped. Adam walked with his right hand sliding over uneven surface of old masonry. The brick lay was dump and cold. The sensation wasn't pleasant but it was better then crab walking being afraid of falling and breaking his neck.
Something was wrong, very wrong. By that time, even walking as slow as he was, Adam should have reached the gates and come to the West Bridge. Yet, he was still plodding along the wall. The wall? Adam got confused. It was impossible that he hadn't come across a door or a window. He had had his hand on the wall all the time and he wouldn't have missed a door! There must have been at least a niche! What the hell was going on? A wave of panic stroke him. "Help! Anybody help me!
His voice sank in the gloomy thickness of the fog. Adam was terrified. He rushed forwards and crashed violently against the solid wall. He fell back on the dump cobblestone and shrieked in pain. He cut his forehead and badly hit the back of his head. Adam pressed his hands against the forehead. He was bleeding.
Fighting the nausea, Adam got up and came to the wall. He made five steps and faced a corner. Then he walked in the opposite direction and found another. Yes, he finally made it, he smiled sarcastically at himself, he crossed the Old Town. But it was the wrong street. He was at the dead-end. He had to return.
The bleeding stopped but Adam didn't feel good. He was nauseous and his head ached terribly. The fog seemed to disappear slowly but still Adam could see further than his hands. The street wasn't silent anymore. Adam was hearing distant, muffled voices and sounds. He called for help few times but nobody responded. That was very strange. He thought he had seen something moving in the fog, some indistinct shadows had appeared and vanished next to him but nothing more than that.
Still there were no doors or windows but the same old masonry. Adam felt lost and sick. He wanted to come out from this odd place. He thought that he would be happy even to see One Leg Bill and his cronies. He would be happy to see anyone.
Something touched his head. Adam jerked and jumped aside. He looked up and stopped breathing. There was a man hanging on a rope. A dead man. Adam shrieked and ran away.
He fell down a few times but got up and ran again. The picture of the hangman was floating in his mind. He kept running and it seemed an eternity to pass before through the fog he saw a strip of light. He hurried towards the light.
It was a door opened ajar and the light was coming from the narrow gap. Without least hesitation, Adam shoveled himself inside. He gave a swift glance at the door which seemed to be made of a solid slab of black stone. There were carvings all over its surface depicting awful scenes of some sort of a pagan rite.
Finally he managed to push himself through the narrow gap and he almost fell into a brightly-lit room. As he regained the balance, Adam looked around. The place somehow reminded him an old drugstore, it was spacious, clean, and smelling of medicine. However there were no bottles, flasks, packages, or any other properties of a pharmacy. The only furniture consisted of a massive, black bartend and a black cabinet on the wall behind it.
There was an old man, who was closing the door of the cabinet and whom Adam didn't notice at first.
"Hello mister. Adam said but the old man didn't react still standing with his back to him.
"Mister. Adam repeated more inquisitively.
The old man turned around and smiled. "Oh, Adam. That's nice of you to come.
"Do you know me?
"Sure I do. The old man said. "Everybody knows Adam.
Adam was puzzled. He didn't know the man. Had never seen him before in his life and he was good at faces. But there was no time to ponder.
"Mister, can you call the ambulance. I am injured.
"Why Adam? Do you think they may help?
"Mister. Please just call them and that's all. Said Adam and waddled to the bartend.
"I don't think it's necessary, Adam. The old man said looking closely at something in his hands. "This will work. The man said to himself and then to glanced at Adam "I don't think it's necessary.
"Who the hell are you? Adam was loosing his temper. The calmness of the old man , his sluggishness irritated him.
"I am the collector.
"What?
"You know, Adam. The question is who are you?
"What are you talking about?
"You are either a collector or, The old man paused and raised his finger, "You are an item. A piece. An article.
"Call the ambulance, please. Adam cut him off. He was injured, he was called, he'd seen that hanged man and the old perk was talking about some freaking items. The old chap was definitely out of his mind.
"You don't listen to me, Adam. What I am saying is very important.
"Mister, I would be happy to drop by some day and listen to you as long as you wish but please call the paramedics first. Adam said barely hiding the irritation in his voice.
"That's the thing, Adam. Only person in the world who can help you is me.
"Well, then help me.
"I am trying but you've being impatient.
Adam didn't say anything.
"So as I said I am the collector. The oldest collector in the Universe. The subject of my collection is very peculiar. Actually I am the only one collecting this kind of stuff. And I am very interested with new artifacts.
"What's the point, mister? I am dying here.
"The point is I want something from you in exchange for my assistance.
"I don't have anything.
"Well, I am not talking about material things. I need something different.
"Do you want my soul? Adam grinned. The old chap was crazy as hell.
"You can say so. The old man replied with the same bland indifference in his voice.
"You are sick, old fart! I am leaving. Adam turned around and headed to the door.
"Who is sick here is not me but you. And besides you can't go anywhere ' the door is closed.
At the very moment the old man uttered the last word, Adam felt thousands of iron-hot stings pierced his head and chest. He groaned and despite the sudden sensation of overwhelming fatigue managed to reach the door. It was shut. Adam pressed on it with all weight of his body but the door didn't move. What moved were the figures craved on its surface. The small horrible creatures turned their faces at Adam. He swore he could hear them whispering something in unknown tongues and although he couldn't make out a single word out of it, their message was clear to him, they wanted him. They wanted him to die.
Horrified and confused, Adam jumped back. He managed to shout "Open the door! one more time before the fatigue got him. He fell to the floor and clutched himself in the bouts of terrible pain. "Open the door! He begged the old man, who was still poking with the same strange object in his hands. "I will be able to do it if we come to an agreement.
Adam lost the track of time. He was falling through something dark and cold. He could hear the creatures from the door shouting his name over and over. Their unbearable voices were converting his suffering into one never-ending torture. He repeated with weakened voice "Open the door, please.
"I see you are getting better, Adam He heard the old man's saying from somewhere away. "I hope you will behave.
"Okay, okay. Adam whispered. "I will do whatever you want.
"That's better. The old man said and Adam instantly felt relief. The pain and fatigue vanished and he sit up and rubbed his eyes. The old man was still playing with something what, as Adam finally managed to see, was a tiny human figure akin of a toy soldier.
"Can we talk now?
"Yes. Adam got to his feet and looked straight at the old man's eyes.
"I will bring you back to life but when it's over your, how did you say, soul is mine.
"What are you trying to say? Adam felt nauseous.
"Precisely what you just thought. The old man was starring at him and Adam saw that his eyes were nothing but two black pits. "You are dead, my dear. You died from hypothermia the moment you left the cathedral.
"It's not true. I am alive!
"Whatever you say. The old started to turn away from him.
"Right. Right. Damn you. I agree. What do I have to sign?
"You don't have to sign anything. You agreed and that's enough.
"Is that it?
"Yes, that's it. Good bye Adam and hello Adam.
"What do you¦ He couldn't finish the question. He began to shiver and the terrible pain was back. The last thought in his head was that he was shrinking.

The old man picked up a tiny figure from the floor and put it into the glass container. Then he walked to the cabinet and opened it. Behind the heavy black doors were the endless rows of shelves with the glass containers with a tiny human figure inside of each.