The Case of the Missing Soul

It was a day just like any other, until it wasn't.

A woman walks into my office, 2nd floor of the Kane Building, downtown Bend. Light was shining just right through the little stained glass portholes to the side of my desk; it enveloped her in a prism of light.

But something was wrong. She wasn't glowing in the beautiful light; she seemed flat, like she was a black hole sucking up all the energy and banishing it into another dimension.

I didn't say this to her. Instead, I just said:

"Hi."

She nodded.

"May I?" she murmured, gesturing towards the guest chair.

"Of course. I'm Bruce Kasanoff, soul private investigator. But you already know that, don't you?"

She nodded.

"Jenny McClaren. I'm told you're my last hope."

I remained standing, leaning again the multicolored totem pole a satisfied client gave me after I located his soul hiding somewhere in Missouri.

"We'll see, Jenny. What's your story?"

She was still, motionless, eyes averted. Her breathing was shallow, almost non-existent. For a moment, I actually wondered if she was breathing at all.

But then Jenny lifted her head and looked me right in the eyes. "I woke up 12 years ago. Pursued my purpose with a sense of passion and drive. Knocked over everything and everyone that got in my way."

She wasn't messing around. Gets right to the point. I could already see the kicker coming. Might be able to solve this case before noon.

"Then one day," she continued, "I turned around and saw a trail of dead and injured bodies behind me. The people I hurt, many of whom I never even registered their existence. It was then... I knew the price of my success."

Bingo. "You lost your soul."

She nodded, and even cracked a tiny smile. "They said you were good. Yes, my soul. Gone."

I sat down. Time to work out the formalities. "I can solve your case, find your soul, re-animate your life. It won't be cheap. You'll pay for my time and expenses, and we'll go wherever the trail leads. Tanzania. Detroit. Private clubs in Austin. Maybe the World Series"

She frowned. "The World Series? I've never even been to a baseball game."

"I just wanted to make sure you were paying attention," I confessed.

Jenny opened her bag and slid a big sleeve of bills across the table. "Will this be enough to show you I'm serious?"

I grabbed the sleeve and flipped through the wad. There were a lot of zeroes.

It was my turn to nod.

"You're lucky, Jenny. Some say one in two people have lost their soul. A tiny percentage of them realize it. An even smaller chunk decide to do anything about it. And fewer still have the... well... means to get expert help."

Jenny leaned forward. "I'm ready. I want to live again... to shine... no, to glow with energy and excitement. How long will this take?"

I smiled. My answer was always the same. It wasn't cute, reassuring or especially comforting, but it was my only known habit.

"As long as it takes, and not one second more."