Be the Death of Me

by Rebecca Harris

  “Do you remember the way to my house?” I’d asked him in a futile attempt at understanding.

  He didn’t answer. I couldn’t begin to understand then what I know now. How could I?

  I didn’t speak again, even when we pulled into an empty, abandoned parking lot belonging to a church built of brick. Quaint and picturesque, the sort of scene used in calendars and brochures, with green ivy winding its way up the sides, white steeple, stained glass in the front window. Beautiful in its modesty.

  Riley shut off the ignition with a quick, almost violent flick of his wrist. “I want to show you something.” He shut his eyes against a world on fire, a brilliant red and gold horizon.

  I nodded as though I understood, unfastened my seatbelt and climbed silently out of the car. Unsure, I allowed him to lead me not to the front doors, but over a rock–strewn path that meandered lazily around the side of the building. My skin prickled with anxiety, goose bumps flowing in rivers across my arms. Not because I felt unsafe. Oh no. Because I felt too safe, too comfortable. Almost as if something should be wrong and my apprehension stemmed from the fact that everything was as ideal as it seemed.

  Riley came to a halt at the back of the church, bordering the edge of a uncultivated field, feral and fresh with high grass and a circle of nearby trees. The land rose and fell in pleasant slopes, reassuring except for one small detail.

  Graves. A hundred or so gray, granite headstones speckling the landscape in a connect–the–dots of death. Some older than others, the names and dates all but worn away by weather and time. Some brand new. Some small, some large, a few for children, most for those who finished their lives at a ripe, old age. Across the field, a marble mausoleum watched solemnly over the congregation of the dead.

  Riley stepped into their midst without so much as a word, hands jammed firmly in the pockets of his jean jacket. He seemed to know where he was going, turning left, then right, walking straight, letting his feet lead the way, and although the hairs on my arms stood on end, trying their hardest to speak to me, I followed after. He stopped a few rows in, pausing at a headstone. Staring down at it, he seemed lost in his thoughts, caught in a trance that I was almost afraid to break.

  “Riley?” I whispered after a minute of listening to the wind and the almost supernatural call of a lone wood thrush. “Is this really important? I’m tired, and my wrist is really starting to hurt again. I kind of want to get home.”

  He tilted his head back, lifting his face to what remained of the sun.

  “Riley?” I tried again. “I’m not really sure why we’re here, but it’s kind of getting a little too Stand By Me, don’t you think?” I attempted a chuckle, glancing down nervously at the grave over which we stood. “I mean, pretty soon you’re going to be telling me there’s a dead body down by the river.”

  I stopped talking when I noticed the name etched deep into the granite slab at our feet.

  MILO NIKOLAS KASTANELLOS

  1969–2005

  COME HOME AND REST

  A line of sweat formed across my brow and upper lip as I took a horrified step forward, leaving Riley behind in the high grass.

  “Riley,” I said, keeping my voice as calm as I could. “Riley, what is this? Is this supposed to be funny?” I didn’t dare turn around for fear of showing the disgust splashed over my face. “Why would you bring me here? How did you even—”

  Click.

  I shut my eyes against the sound, shying away from the unassuming noise with the body of an old man. I didn’t need to look to see what I already knew was there. The sound was familiar, unmistakable. One I had heard before as a child.

  Life ended, the world was over. There was no going back from that tiny click, no erasing it. I was a fool and I welcomed the acceptance.

  And now the universe has caught up to my fear, and time has begun again.

  “No,” I say through gritted teeth.

  The voice behind me rings out, clear as a death knell.

  “Turn around.”

  I fill my lungs and do as I’m told, opening my eyes to meet his unsure, half–manic stare with one of my own. I keep my gaze focused, unable to bear looking at the hideous thing in his hand.

  “Why?” I breathe with what I am sure is my final gasp of air.

  He levels the gun, his hand frighteningly steady.

  “Because you killed him.”

  A tear leaks from the corner of his eye.

  He pulls the trigger.

  Tucker

  “I’ve already told you, Mr. Reid. I don’t know where she is.”

  I throw my fist down on the smooth, clean counter. “That’s not good enough, Abby!”

  I’m not sure why I’m shouting at the girl. My only excuse for not leaping across the counter is that she honestly seems to know less about what’s going on than I do. I lower my voice. “Abby, listen to me. Something is wrong. I can’t get a read on Billie. It’s like she’s blocking me or something.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  It’s no more than a mumble, her full, dark lips barely parting long enough for the words to escape.

  “Has she been here, Abby?”

  “Possibly.”

  My patience for her is all but spent. I growl like a caged animal. “I need you to tell me where Billie is! This is important!”

  Abby stands, sliding smoothly from her chair like a snake uncoiling from its rock. “Let me ask you something, Mr. Reid.” She places her hands on either side of the counter, leaning forward on her arms. “Do you know how the two of you look to the rest of us? You and Billie?”

  I shake my head, unsure of where this is leading.

  “You’re a joke. Billie’s the worst Guardian in history. She’s a disgrace. It not only makes her seem incompetent, but it makes the rest of us look bad as well. And you! You brood and pout and pine after her. It’s embarrassing! Not to mention it doesn’t help that the Captain favors you two over the rest of us. Here we are, following the rules, not putting a toe out of line, and it still doesn’t get us anywhere near the special attention he pays the pair of you. Billie was here not an hour ago, digging for classified information, and what did the Captain do? He tricked me into leaving my desk just long enough for her to get what she wanted! I still can’t believe—”

  “So she was here?” I don’t care to hear any more of her rambling. It’s nice to discover her insults don’t bother me in the slightest. The other Guardians’ opinion of me is so far down on my list of things I care about, it’s almost laughable.

  “Why should I tell you?” she says with a calculated sneer. “Your whole assignment has been a disaster! So you’ll excuse me if I don’t feel like abusing the system for your benefit, okay? I’ve done what I was told. I put on my smile and treated you both with respect you clearly don’t deserve. No more. You’re on your own, buddy. I didn’t sign up for this. I don’t care what the Captain thinks anymore. Screw him. I’m not sticking my neck out for anyone. I’m done. You can just forget—”

  She doesn’t get much further than that. The muscles in her arms stiffen as if locked in place, her back distorting into an impossible arc. Her pretty face twists into a confused frown, then a grimace, then into what can only be described as terror, until her mouth opens to release the most horrifying of screams.

  The shriek seems to carry on forever, echoing around the cabinets and walls, bouncing back against my ears while I stand transfixed by the terrible scene in front of me. As her head tilts back to the ceiling and her long, black hair falls across her back, her form begins to fade, vanishing as if she is merely phasing to a new location. But I know she isn’t. The glow around her ebony skin dies like the light of a setting sun, fading, melting away until it’s nothing at all. Her eyes are the last of her to disappear, horrible, begging, pleading for help that will never come. And then Abby is gone.

  “That’s a shame,” says voice from behind me.

  I stare at the Captain, open–mouthed and horrified. “What was that? What
happened? Where’s Abby?”

  “Calm down,” he says, moving to stand next to me at the now vacant desk. “It’s nothing to worry about. She was taken.”

  “How is that nothing to worry about?”

  “Well, it isn’t for you I suppose,” he says, his rosy face breaking into an irreverent grin. “Abby, on the other hand, might have quite a bit to worry about. Pity, too. It’s always such a lot of trouble training new employees.”

  I sputter stupidly, driving my hands through my hair in the hopes they will stop shaking. “You . . . I . . . I mean . . . she . . . you . . . you . . . you are being . . . very cavalier about all of this!”

  The Captain leans his leonine figure against the counter, resting back on his elbows. “My boy, when I was your age, I was the very definition of cavalier. Mind you, the term did have a bit more to do with horses back then.”

  “Captain!” I shout, gripping his shoulders between my hands. His black shirt sparkles from our combined glows. “Focus, please! Why was Abby taken? What did she do?”

  The older man wiggles free of my grasp. “She broke her contract,” he says simply. “Abby was employed to be my right–hand woman. End of story. The moment she made up her mind to forsake her job for the sake of her own skin, the Elders deemed her unnecessary.”

  “And they took her? Just like that?”

  “The Elders can do anything they like. I’ve tried telling Foster just how fortunate she really is. I consistently put in a good word for her, but they don’t always give second chances.”

  “But . . . it was so quick. She didn’t even have a chance to say she was sorry!”

  “Yes, it was quick,” he says, almost sadly. “Only the strong linger.”

  “What do you mean the strong linger?” I ask. “You mean it’s possible to fight being taken?” The idea had never occurred to me before.

  But the Captain puts an end to my thoughts before I have a chance to ponder the possibility.

  “You can fight it,” he says, casually pulling the single white flower from his shirt pocket. “But in the end, you’ll lose. The strong always tend to hold on longer than they’re meant to, but everyone gives up in the end. It’s as much of an inevitability as death itself.”

  I stare at the spot where Abby stood not a moment ago. The desk appears frighteningly empty now. It seems wrong that someone new will fill in the void left by her absence. Pretty soon it will be as if she never existed at all, wiped from minds and memories.

  I shake my head, sending my bangs falling every which way across my forehead. “What are you doing here?” I ask, unsure of what else to say.

  The Captain smirks into his flower’s silken petals, entirely self–engrossed. “I could be asking you the same thing, Mr. Reid. Don’t you have an assignment that needs looking after?”

  “Ford is fine,” I say quickly, warding off the accusation with a flippant wave of my hand. “He’s safe.”

  “Are you quite sure? When is the last time you got a read on him?”

  I feel my brow furrow in frustration. I don’t feel like explaining myself. My behavior may be irrational, reckless, a bit crazy even, but if the threat of losing the person you love more than your own life isn’t reason enough to act a little insane, I don’t know what is. “Abby said Billie’s been here. She said she was asking for classified information. Do you know why?”

  “Asking for classified information? But that would be against the rules!”

  “Captain, please. This is serious.”

  His glowing expression falters, aging him a hundred years in an instant.

  “This is very serious,” he agrees, the lines and creases of his face falling with weariness and wisdom. “You studied Mr. Ford’s file?”

  I think back to the night in Ford’s room, shoulder to shoulder with Billie, digging through a file so convoluted and twisted neither of us could make heads or tails of the boy. “Yeah, of course we did.”

  “Then I feel it’s my duty to let you know I haven’t been completely honest with you.” From within the black, silk lining of his coat, he pulls a folded sheet of notebook paper. “Please try not to think too badly of me.” He carefully unfolds it and hands it to me.

  I can read it before it reaches my fingers, the dark, heavy ink across the top.

  “CASE 13–CLASSIFIED”

  “What is this?”

  The Captain lifts his eyes to meet mine. “It’s something I should have given you long ago. That day I gave you Mr. Ford’s file, I took a page out, remember?”

  I nod.

  “I had good reason,” he says. “I was not purposefully trying to mislead you. I merely felt you weren’t . . ready to discover the truth.”

  “The truth about what?” In response, he slips the sheet into my hand and gestures for me to continue reading. My eyes scan the page hungrily, soaking in each word, each line. It isn’t long before I figure out why it’s been given such a label. The initial excitement I feel while reading the forbidden words disappears, replaced by something far more sinister.

  No.

  No!

  I want to hit him, or throw something, or at the very least shout my despair to the heavens. I do none of these, but instead let the paper fall to the desk where it lands, creased and worn.

  “Why? Why would you show me this now?”

  The Captain, who until now has kept his eyes fixed on my face, breaks his gaze to stare at his hands. “You have the right to know. I suspected early on, the true reason Mr. Ford could see you. I went back to your files, yours and Foster’s and searched through every detail, every scrap of information I could find. And the answer was in front of me. The fire, the one that took you from that world was not meant for you. It was intended for Mr. Ford.”

  “It was meant for Ford? How? Why?”

  He steadies himself. “For the same reason you and Foster are fighting for him now. I don’t know how we missed it, perhaps a blip in the paperwork, but Mr. Ford was meant to die four years ago. In the same fire that claimed you and Foster.”

  “But that’s . . that’s . . impossible!”

  “’And here I thought she’d rubbed off on you. Haven’t you learned yet, Tucker? Nothing is impossible.” He chuckles softly. “The impossible is nothing but a challenge to someone as unpredictable as Foster.”

  “What does Billie—?”

  “She changed the course of Mr. Ford’s fate, and she didn’t even know she was

  doing it. It was coincidence–the two of them meeting. But they did. She spoke to him only minutes before she died. She was the one who told him to leave, who forced his hand. With something as inconspicuous as a white lie no less! She saved him.” His voice trails off, his fingers brush over the flower petals. “It was sheer bad luck she was in that room at all, nothing more than a stalled engine days before.”

  My mouth hangs open stupidly. I’m too baffled, too horrified to know how to react to what I’ve been just been told. “What about me?”

  “You? Come now, Mr. Reid. We both know the reason you’re here, don’t we? However courageous it may have been, it was your choice and your choice alone to run in after her. Neither of you were intended to join us that afternoon because you were never supposed to be there in the first place. Benedict Ford, however, was.”

  I shake my head, listening to his words rattle around inside. “So, you’re saying . . ”

  “I’m saying, Mr. Reid, that you took his place. Mr. Ford’s clock ran out four years ago, and yet by Foster’s hand, he lives. A life for a life. It seems only fitting that the one with a pulse should bear witness to the one who unknowingly allowed him to keep it.”

  Every fiber, every nerve in my body feels as though it’s suddenly come to life, threatening to break through my bones, my flesh, my skin. How can this be true?

  He stalls, searching for the right words. “I understand this must be difficult to comprehend. You are not alone. I hardly believed it myself. We are constantly surrounded by the unknown, yet I am forever
surprised by what I uncover here.”

  “You won’t . . . you won’t tell her, will you?”

  “Foster? No. I doubt I will find the opportunity. That being said, no one would blame you if you turned your back on this assignment. It would—”

  “I’m not going to do that.” I discover words where I believed there to be none. Solid, uncompromising, they reach my lips. “I won’t. Billie wouldn’t give up on Ford, no matter what the circumstances were. I won’t either.”

  The Captain nods his copper head. “You honor what we do here, Mr. Reid. In every sense of the word.” With a smile, he reaches across what was once Abby’s desk, curving his arm into a hidden pigeon hole beneath the counter. His hand comes away with a scrap of paper, ripped and uneven around the edges as if someone has torn it quickly and carelessly from its original binding.

  “What’s that?” I ask, eyeing the paper in suspicion. I can’t help but feel frightened by it.

  “It’s for you.” He holds his hand out to me. “Abby should have given it to you, though I can understand why she might have been a bit apprehensive.”

  Afraid, so afraid, I take the note from his leathery hand.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispers as I unfold and read.

  Forgive me.

  I love you.

  I’m down the hall and at the elevator before I even understand how I get there, a lump of despair circling the pit of my stomach. I feel sick. Angry. Like my heart has been ripped from my chest. I’ve always known Billie would do anything to save Ford, so it doesn’t shock me that she would break the rules and my heart in the same instant. Forgive me? Forgive what? I wouldn’t expect anything less from her. I wouldn’t want anything less.

  Why then do I still feel as if I’m about to lose everything I’ve ever loved?

  I close my eyes and picture Ford in my mind, skinny, awkward, unsure. The elevator dings softly and I get my first read on him in hours. The image I expect, a quiet hospital room, is replaced by one of a field, green and full, encircled by a ring of trees. A bird’s cry echoes in the distance. Dots of gray and black stone cover the land, and it’s a moment before I understand what they are.