The Collectors

Chapter one

Reflection

He sat on the green, paint-flaked bench with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his padded jacket, the collar of which stood up around his ears to shield them from the wind that twirled his hair and made his nose run. Across the putty coloured water a dollop of insipid grey cloud settled comfortably on a horizon serrated by the driving waves that sped toward him and crashed on the beach fifty feet away. He was cold; cold not just from the fall weather auditioning for the months to come, but also from the hole left in his stomach by the vise grip of despair.

How things had gone so horribly wrong left him questioning his own grasp on reality. The plan had been a straight forward, uncomplicated and financially promising venture. Aside from his original actions, the plan wasn't criminal it wasn't even illegal, it might have been unethical but what wasn't in business? It was the lust for money that hauled him down the path he'd eagerly taken. Opportunities had presented themselves, good opportunities with potential relationships and a chance at real happiness. There had been no need for any of the pain that followed.

Meeting Holly Lakefield was when things quickly went south. He ran the edge of his finger over his nose and it came away wet and he cursed, fumbling in his pocket for a tissue. Vagrant swatches of paper and dirt swirled and dashed about the bench as the wind made fanciful changes in direction.

Her name summoned her image and her image flooded his mind with memories of the devastating turn Daniel Kipman's life had taken.

Chapter 1

August

Daniel Kipman studied the information on his screen, clicking on all the updates and connecting sites one after another. He read intently for what seemed like hours and then finally selected a series of articles and photos to download to his printer. His neck ached and his legs felt rubbery from sitting in one position for so long. The water bottle lay on its side, long empty and the crumbs from the handful of biscuits spread like dandruff over his workspace. The printer huffed and whizzed alongside him and he leaned way back in his chair and stretched until his joints popped.

The equipment was creating a warm temperature in the room since the earlier breeze had taken a break and Daniel plucked at his t-shirt where it stuck to his sides. He had a sudden yen for the air-conditioned environment of the bookstore where he worked up until a few months ago before becoming a casualty of the sinking economy. Daniel hadn't failed to notice that those decisions were taken, not in the manager's office, but in lavishly financed committee meetings in equally lavish hotel suites by those never to be affected by the financial shift. The slumping economy of the book retail business would be fought with determination, but strategically, and by class. It was always the bottom rung that was sawed off.

Surviving solely on his stipend from monthly employment insurance and a dwindling amount of savings, he spent his time browsing the web for something—anything—that would compensate for the risk he'd taken before leaving his place of employment. He recognized that his situation was of his own making since after dropping out of school, the bookstore position had been about all he cared to tackle.

Even so, reorganizing and re-shelving of the Antiques and Collectibles section in a second floor corner of the store was the most undemanding and tedious occupation he could imagine, until that was, he'd discovered an area of interest both surprising and stirring. The very books he'd chucked about without consideration of content suddenly caught his attention, parading along the shelves in their expensive, multicoloured covers with subjects spanning every letter in the alphabet. Exposed to a world of activities and exotic collections he never realized existed, Daniel began sneaking time to thumb the pages, absorbed by their compelling interest.