The Collector

 Title: "The Collector" 

Jared leaned over the hospital bed, watching the old man’s chest rise and fall in shallow gasps. Mr. Fletcher’s eyes fluttered open, clouded but aware enough to look at Jared, who grinned. 

“You’re almost gone, Mr. Fletcher,” Jared whispered. “But lucky for you, I have a gift. I can bring you back—every time.” 

Mr. Fletcher tried to speak, but his voice was a dry rasp. His family had said their goodbyes hours ago, but Jared, the devoted caregiver, lingered. Only he knew the truth: Mr. Fletcher didn’t have to die today. In fact, Jared wouldn’t let him. 

“You see,” Jared continued, almost gleeful, “each time I bring you back, I get something in return. A bit of your life, your memories, your fears. It makes me... stronger.” 

Mr. Fletcher’s mouth trembled as if to protest, but the strength was gone. His eyes drifted shut, his breathing ceased. 

Jared waited a beat, then placed a hand on the old man’s chest. He closed his eyes, feeling the familiar rush of power surge from Mr. Fletcher’s cooling body into his own veins. Moments later, the old man’s lungs filled with a startled gasp, eyes wide and fearful, his gaze locking onto Jared’s. 

“Welcome back,” Jared said softly, his fingers still pressed against Mr. Fletcher’s chest. The man’s pupils were wide, panicked. Each return left his mind a little frayed, his memories a little less coherent, his spirit a little more broken. 

Jared savored the fear; it tasted of bitter coffee and old newspaper, and he relished every drop. Mr. Fletcher couldn’t speak, couldn’t beg to be freed, but Jared could feel the desperation leaking out of him like a sieve. It was intoxicating. 

“How many times have we done this now?” Jared murmured, almost to himself. “Three? Four? Doesn’t matter. It’s never enough.” 

The beeping on the monitor began to slow again. Mr. Fletcher’s eyes slid closed, the terror fading into blankness. Jared felt the familiar ebb of life slip away, the silent plea in the old man’s fading consciousness to be left alone, to find peace. 

But peace was something Jared would never allow. 

As the machine fell silent, Jared’s hand hovered above Mr. Fletcher's chest, crackling with the energy he’d siphoned from countless souls before. He smiled as he placed his hand back down, preparing to bring the old man back for another round. 

He leaned close, whispering into the man’s ear. “Let’s do this one more time.”