The Collector

April 8th, 2019

It turned out Isabel was quite a fan of the Alumni. She wasn’t much older than me. A year or two at most, which meant she had grown up watching us on the news. She was a chatty one and remembered more of the things I did than I did myself. She reminded me of things I had long forgotten. At that time, I never could have imagined my actions would leave such an impact on a complete stranger. It reminded me, for the first time in years, that we did some good things. The world, as much as it didn’t want to, needed us. Then some of us died or disappeared. The rest was forgotten. Or so I had thought. Scattered around the world, there were still people that believed in us, people like Isabel that knew we’d someday step back into the fray. I had no intention of doing so at that moment, but I did want to save Isaac and my sister more than anything. Whilst on our way to meet a man Isabel would only refer to as the Collector she revealed to me this wasn’t the first time we had met. She was there that day when everything went to shit. She’d come to see the celebrations in the Hague with her aunt, something the Sheriff had never mentioned to me. She was one of the few people that day to have received my autograph. When the first bomb went off she was only a block away.  She remembered the dust and smoke blocking out the sun and her aunt screaming at her to get inside. The rest of the day had been a blur. Gunfire and helicopters flying overhead made for a deafening cacophony. She said it was like a warzone and all she could think about was us. She knew we’d be out there, fighting. Only I wasn’t. I felt more and more guilty about it.  

The collector was an old, secluded man living his life peacefully and quietly. Occasionally, the Metropolitan Police Department reached out to him whenever they had a case involving peculiar items. As his name suggested, the Collector was very interested in such items and advised them on what they were, what they did, and where they came from. In return, the MPD would often gift the man the item to add to his collection. Ramos warned me that the Collector was as strange as the items he collected and had a manual of his own. Despite his rough behavior and almost pirate-like looks, he was a kind man so Ramos said. I had trouble seeing it though. He lived where you’d expect him to, in a neglected building from the early twentieth century with more cracks in its walls than it had windows. Most of those windows were completely overgrown by moss and vines. Most people would look at such a building and think it’d be ready for demolition. Not me. Nature and human engineering hand in hand. The way it should be. Ramos grabbed the brass door knocker to let the Collector know we were there, but the door creaked open before she could make a sound. An earthy scent reached my nose as I entered the with dust shimmering in the light hallway.  

“Close the door!” A deep scrawny voice yelled from one of the rooms. “Now, you morons!” A man came running over to us as fast as he could, which wasn’t very fast at all. His cane was giving him some speed. Without it, he’d probably have had fallen over already.

“Mister Ramsey,” Ramos said as she quickly shut the door. “We’ve come to ask you something.” I couldn’t see the expressions on his face through his thick grey beard, but he didn’t seem to be too interested in what Ramos had to say. He kept looking around as if he had lost something. 

“Do you remember me, mister Ramsey?” Ramos asked. The man turned around for a split second and gave her a quick look over. 

“Sure..” he mumbled as he continued his search. “Elsa or something, right?” Not even close but Ramos let it slide. 

“Isabel, but that’s okay. I’ve brought a friend with me.”

“Good for you. Now, bugger off. I’m busy.”

As we reached what appeared to be the living room, though I could barely spot the couch through the mess of old newspapers and dirty dishes, I noticed an empty birdcage sitting in the corner. There was still some water left in the little basin. I stopped and had a good look around as I took in my surroundings. 

“What's your boyfriend doing there, Elsa?” Mister Ramsey asked. “He’d better keep it together.”

In the far distance, I heard the muffled clapping of bird wings and knew what the man had lost. I felt the bird’s energy intertwine with my own. It was only a small creature, a parakeet of some sort. It felt my energy too and the sound of its wings intensified. Not long after, the green and yellow creature said down on my shoulder and began to sing a song, much to the surprise of the old man. He leaned in close enough for me to smell the spilled dried up rum in his beard and said whilst slightly squinting one eye: "Where were you?”

"Just in the next room,” I answered.

"Not the bird,” he said as a few drops of spit escaped from his mouth. “Where were you?”

“You know who I am?” I asked as I realized why this man was such an asset to the Metropolitan Police Department. Despite his appearances, the Collector was not someone to be underestimated. 

“You were always my favorite,” he said as he got out of my face again. “Were,” he emphasized once more. 

“I spend the last couple of years living in a small town not far from here,” I said, thinking I was answering his question.

“Are you dumb?!” He asked as more spit left the confines of his lips. I wasn’t sure how to respond. 

“I meant during the attack?” The Collector continued. “Where were you when your brothers and sister gave their lives?”

“They didn’t give their lives,” I said getting worked up over his aggressive tone of voice. “They were robbed of it.”

“You scared yours’d get robbed as well?”

“What’s it to you, old man?” I was done with him. I didn’t care what information he had. He hit a nerve I didn’t realize I had. Perhaps he was right, perhaps not. What I did know was that he was in no position to judge me.