Be the Death of Me (15 page)

The words pour from my mouth, unstoppable, like water bursting from a levy. “I know there are two sides to Billie Foster, one you never let anyone see, both of which scare the hell out of me. I know you have this uncanny ability to make me so frustrated that sometimes I want to slap whoever it was that first suggested my sanity could handle working with you.”

I take a final step closer, taking her small hands in mine, holding them both against my chest. “I know you didn’t remember me before we were thrown together, but that’s okay. Because I have tried to stop loving you. God help me, I’ve tried. But I fail every time, and you know what?” I shake my head, amazed she hasn’t stopped or slapped me yet. “I couldn’t be happier about it. I love my failure. You make everything exciting and new and challenging. And I love that. I love
you
, and nothing you do or say or
don’t
say is ever going to change that.”

Her impossibly blue eyes stare up at me, twin pools of mystery and misery. My own begin to burn and sting with tears that will never find release as I watch her perfect, pink lips part. Then, with neither words nor warning, she takes my face between her thin, delicate hands and pulls me to her, slowly pressing her lips to mine. Her fingers twist into the thick strands of my hair, curving against my neck as I envelop her tiny figure in my arms. The kiss is hesitant. Sweet. Tender.

A brand new torture.

I don’t think of Ford or the Captain or the Elders. This single moment of bliss is worth any anxiety or heartache that might come my way. If this girl is an ocean of trouble, then let me drown.

She pulls away, slowly, almost as if she can’t bear the separation, and presses her forehead to mine. I listen to the silence, the sounds of the party fading into white noise as I try my hardest to read her thoughts, wondering if she can read mine.

“Don’t,” she murmurs at last, leaving her eyes closed.

I can’t help but smile through my uncertainty. “Don’t what?”

Her voice comes at me small and soft.

“Don’t love me.”

The words are like an attack, one I’m not prepared for. For an instant everyone in the room is a ghost, and we are the ones with blood and heartbeats and pain. Because that’s what her request is. The most exquisite ache I could ever imagine; the cause and cure one and the same. How odd that I should feel it now when my body is beyond pain, beyond yearn, or touch, or warmth.

The look in her eyes, determined, familiar, asking me not to love her is . . . 

Is . . . 

Is . . . like dying.

All over again.

And that’s the last thought I have before I vanish, taking my humiliation with me.

Ford

“That was the longest night of my life.”

I hand my parking ticket to the valet attendant, staring after him as he dashes off into the darkness to find my car. “And I’ve had
a lot
of long nights since meeting you, so I know what I’m talking about.” I chuckle at my own joke.

I’m not surprised when she doesn’t respond. Billie hasn’t spoken a word since I found her standing next to a large ficus plant in the lobby. Tucker is nowhere to be seen, and though I don’t ask where he is, Billie’s empty gaze is more than enough answer.

Gone.

“Where to now?” I ask in a feeble attempt at conversation just as my Chevette pulls alongside the sidewalk. The valet tosses me my keys, glad to be rid of my motorized eyesore.

“I don’t care.” She shrugs and phases through the passenger door.

I step to the driver’s side and climb in, only too happy to escape the confines of the yuppie prison. I wasn’t kidding when I’d said the night was a long one. Shannon tried all evening to get Logan and I to communicate, but becoming friends with a guy who has called me “Bent–dick” for the last four years is about as likely as . . .  well, talking to the dead.

I can’t help but wonder where my other Guardian has gone to, or if something happened between the two of them in the time I was away. Then again, if Billie were upset with him, she’d come out and say so, right? This passive–aggressive behavior is all wrong on her, like a shoe that doesn’t quite fit.

“So where’s Tucker?” I ask.

She slumps against her seat. “He left.”

“Is he coming back?”

“Don’t know. Maybe.”

“Come on, Billie. You gotta give me more than that.”

“I don’t have to give you anything,” she snorts. “You’re my assignment, not my therapist. My job is to keep you alive. That’s it.”

The car rumbles on in silence, swerving around each corner, sticking to the black pavement like glue. Part of me wants to shrug off her insult, knowing it’s just her epic temper getting the best of her. But a much larger piece of my brain boils with her remark. I jerk the wheel to the left, cutting across an entire lane of traffic and recklessly sliding my car into a tiny parallel spot along the road. The tires shriek with the sudden turn, squealing loud enough to frighten more than a few pedestrians.

“Okay, time out,” I say, cutting the ignition. The car shudders to a stop. “I’ve just spent the last three hours talking nonstop about stocks and city funding and highballs all the while pretending to enjoy
fois gras
and whatever that slimy shellfish was Shannon kept coercing me to eat. I’ve had a very long night, not a minute of which was productive. So you’ll forgive me if I tell you to shove it.” She whirls on me. “You and I both know we’re friends. There’s no point in denying it now. So believe me when I say we’re not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on.”

Billie turns to face the window, her face a perfect portrait of melancholy. She sets her shoulders stubbornly. “Tuck told me he’s in love with me,” she mumbles, her tone almost angry.

So he finally cracked. I can’t deny it was probably only a matter of time before something like this happened. “And? What did you say to him?”

Her answer is simple. “I told him not to. I kissed him and told him not to love me.”

My first instinct is that she’s joking. No one could be that heartless. As much as I enjoy making Tucker suffer occasionally, even
I
have to admit no one deserves that sort of torture. But in the instant I glance over at her seat, I understand she is in no way teasing.

“Oh.” I inhale deeply, trying my best to keep the expression of disapproval off my face. “I see.”

“You see?” she snaps. “What does that mean?”

I fight back a cynical laugh. “You’re not exactly the warmest girl in the world, Billie.” She scoffs and turns back to the windshield with a crumpled pout. “I know Tucker and I don’t exactly get along, but you probably crushed the poor guy.”

“I didn’t . . .” she starts, giving up before she can finish. “He’ll be fine.”

“If you say so. But if you ask me, kissing a guy and then telling him to back off isn’t exactly rational thinking. I mean, the only reason someone would do that is if . . .”

I let it go, realization hitting me in the gut with the gentle caress of a full–speed battering ram. “Oh! Wait a sec! That’s it, isn’t it?”

“What’s it?” she rolls her eyes and shifts uncomfortably.

I answer slowly, making sure she hears every word. “You. Love. Him.” An explosion of laughter breaks free. “That’s it! It has to be. It’s the only thing that makes sense!”

“I do not!” she cries. “I can’t. The thought of it . . .  it’s ridiculous! We’re just not meant to be together. You may not have noticed, but it’s kind of difficult to make a relationship work when neither of us has a heart.”

I smirk through the blackness. “I don’t believe that, and neither do you. I think somewhere down the line you’ve just given up.”

“Death sort of puts a damper on happy endings, Ford.”

“Is that the only reason you shot him down? Because you think there’s no point?”

She takes a moment to think, and suddenly I’m shocked by how alive she looks, unsure, nervous, a little embarrassed even. It’s as if she’s the one who’s living now, the one with a reason to feel and love and hate, and I’m the ghost, the lifeless, mimicking her emotions because I’m completely devoid of any of my own.

“Tuck,” she begins, “shouldn’t be with someone who isn’t going to be around much longer. You heard what he said. If we fail, if
I
fail . . ” She steadies herself. “It’s only a matter of time, I guess. It doesn’t matter whether I save your life or not. They won’t stop until they find a reason to get rid of me. I’ve made too many mistakes. Tuck and I are just putting off the inevitable. I’m going to be taken, and that’s just the way it is.”

I set my jaw, suddenly afraid. “What does it mean, being taken?”

“Drop it, Ford. You don’t want to know.”

“I do! Please! Why do they take you? Where do you go?”

“A place where nobody can follow,” she murmurs in a hollow voice. “A place we never speak of. We’re taught only to fear it. No end or escape. Just pain and misery and suffering . . .  forever. The Elders, the people in charge, they can take whoever they want. No warning. No goodbyes. Just one minute you’re doing your job and the next . . .”

“And the next . . . what? What happens?”

Her pale, iridescent eyelids close against the stream of visions running through her mind. “Imagine the worst thing you’ve ever seen. Imagine the most horrible scene you can think of. One that ties your stomach in knots and breaks your heart into a thousand pieces. Imagine pain and loss and despair.”

I close my eyes, forcing myself to travel back to an average Tuesday afternoon, allowing my memories to once again lead me to the familiar expanse of loosely graveled black pavement, blue sky over head, red and gold leaves floating gracefully from the limbs of the trees they called home. I watch as a familiar moss green Chevette pulls into a painted parking space. The doors open and two figures step out, a man and a boy, both dark–eyed, both lean and lanky. The man pockets the keys and reaches for the boy’s shoulder, ushering him toward the front doors.

Far away, so far away, a man rushes from the building, panicked, a terror–filled expression across his hollowed features. An alarm screams around him, wailing like the cries of the tormented.

The two sides collide. The fleeing man pulls a gun, black and hateful, from his windbreaker. I want to warn them. I want to yell at him to stop. But I am merely a spectator to the gruesome, terrible game. I can do nothing.

Neither slows their advance, and a single unending second is all it takes for one side to make a wrong assumption about the other.

Gunshots. Four. Three hit their mark, and suddenly a body lies prostrate on the ground, pools of warm, ruby blood pouring from wounds. The still smoking gun falls to the pavement next to its victim, the eyes of its owner horror–struck with realization. His footsteps echo against the earth, dying away as he flees, leaving the boy in the wake of his destruction.

I open my eyes to find Billie staring at me, her face a mixture of pity and fear. “Now imagine reliving it over and over and over again,” she says. “Forever.”

My heart catches in my throat. I can’t speak, can’t breathe. The only thing I
can
do is understand. Understand why Tucker fears for Billie. Understand why she’s afraid for herself. Understand the hell that awaits her should she fail.

Maybe that’s what being taken really is. Hell. Not the generic, simplified version children are taught to fear. Not fire and demons, but something much worse. Perhaps hell is merely our
personal
demons, lined up, laid bare for us to witness, to relive our mistakes and never change them. To see the past and never the future. The worst fate, the worst punishment stretching on and on for eternity until we eventually succumb to madness. Our choices have been stripped from us, mine, Billie’s, Tucker’s, wherever he is. The option of giving in, giving up and surrendering to the darkness is gone. It will not yield. It will not stop. Hell will come one way or another.

And I’ll be damned if I don’t fight it.

Billie

He wants to help.

I really should have seen this coming. Ford’s transformation from sidekick to superhero took all of one heartbeat after the uncomfortable conversation in his car. He’s no longer the cowardly lion I found so endearing, but an overeager puppy. Cute, yes, but after three days of incessant yapping, all I can seem to think of are ways I could get away with killing him just to have a moment of peace.

“I have another idea,” he says one Sunday afternoon as he hovers over the kitchen sink, elbow deep in soapy water. “I could talk to the Elders and tell them what a great Guardian you are. I could ask them not to take you. I mean, I can talk to you and Tucker, right? That means I can talk to the people in charge. And they’d have to listen to me. They’d just
have
to.”

Yep. Blunt trauma to the head. That’s probably best.

And then there are the other, more personal matters that flicker to the forefront only every other second, matters of a sandy–blond, freckled, level–headed partner who’s suddenly MIA. I hadn’t meant to hurt him. Truly. But I won’t let Tuck waste an eternity on me. It was nice, pretending I could be happy again, a pleasant break from the harsh reality of my afterlife. For a moment I’d even let myself believe I could feel something for him, Tuck who is so good and honest and strong. There are so many reasons I want to let myself dwell in this strange, welcome bliss. But for his sake, I have to give up the ridiculous notion that I could ever belong with him.

“The dishes can wait.” I’m off the counter, grabbing Ford’s arm and forcibly dragging him out the back door. Ford follows, glancing back over his shoulder so frequently it begins to look like a nervous tick.

I walk a few minutes in silence, trying to focus on not thinking. I’m determined to keep busy. “Let’s go somewhere,” I say, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. “There has to be something to do in this town after four o’clock. Comic book store? Ice cream parlor? Sketchy alley where teenagers can get into all sorts of after–school special capers?”

Ford laughs. “Why are you so jumpy all of a sudden?”

“Jumpy?” I wave my hand flippantly. “I’m not jumpy. I’m anything but jumpy. In fact I’m . . .” I pause, not sure where I’m going with my runaway train of thought. “. . . easy. Like Sunday morning.”

“Sure.” He rolls his eyes. “You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were running from something.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you know better then, isn’t it?”

“I guess you won’t mind if I ask where Tucker is then. Haven’t seen him around lately.” He lifts his eyebrows in mock curiosity. I respond with an icy glare. “Oh, lighten up, Billie. I was only joking.” Ford saunters close behind, obviously confused at my sudden craving for an afternoon stroll. “So where are we going?”

“Somewhere,” I say. “Anywhere. I’m open to ideas.”

“Well, Gran said she needed duct tape. There’s a hardware store a few blocks down if that’s okay.”

“Sounds great!” I start quick–marching down the block.

“Billie?” He points back over his shoulder. “Store’s that way.”

I spin on my heel. “I knew that.”

He keeps quiet the rest of the way, only on occasion peeking a look at me out the corner of his eye, an all too familiar smirk in place. We arrive at the hardware store, a tiny, one–register shop called Jennings’s, soon after leaving the house. He searches the aisles for a moment, finding the duct tape in the back.

“Ford!”

The two of us turn simultaneously to see the under–nourished figure of Riley smiling from two aisles over. His cotton–ball head bounces in heartfelt eagerness. Next to him, to my immediate surprise, is Shannon, waving him over with a thin, enthusiastic arm.

“Hey man!” Ford calls in return, sauntering over with all the grace of a wounded gazelle. “What’s up?”

“Not much,” Riley shrugs. “Running some errands for my mom.” His thin arms are filled with an assortment of nails, a pair of pliers, wire cutters, several packages of silver washers, a flathead screwdriver, and one very large ballpein hammer. “She’s determined to redecorate the whole house.”

“Good luck with that,” Ford laughs. “What about you, Shannon?”

“Getting some paint thinner for dad,” she says, tucking her bangs behind her ear. “I really don’t know what I’m doing. Dad said to get the kind in the blue can, but all I can see are green cans. I’m totally lost.”

I nudge Ford with my elbow. “I could show you,” he says, picking up on my signal. Shannon beams at her savior and the two of them, with Riley in tow, head three aisles over. Ford gallantly shows her where the blue cans of paint thinner are hiding, only after I save him the trouble of looking like an idiot by pointing them out to him. Shannon offers him a quick, awkward hug of thanks.

“Glad I could help,” he says as they pull apart, his cheeks flushing crimson. “I’ve, uh, gotta get back though. We were just picking up some duct tape for Gran anyway.”

I shake my head in disbelief.

“We?” Riley asks, glancing over Ford’s shoulder, confused.

“Me!” Ford covers quickly. “Me. I meant
I
was just picking up some duct tape. For Gran.” He laughs at his own stupidity. “Well, I’d probably better get going. But we’ll see you around, okay?”

I slap him upside the head.

“
I’ll
see you around!”

“Ask them to come over!” I hiss in his ear. Truth is, I couldn’t care less if Ford has entertainment for the night, but I need something to take my mind off Tuck. If dinner with Ford and his friends is the way to submerge myself in distraction, then so be it.

“Hey!” Ford shouts suddenly, startling both Shannon and Riley. “Do you guys wanna . . .  I don’t know . . .  hang out for a while tonight? You could come over for dinner. Gran’s making spaghetti.”

Riley and Shannon turn to one another and share an uncertain smile. “Sure,” Shannon says after no time at all. “That’d be great.”

The three of them pay for their supplies and head in the direction of Ford’s house. The afternoon sun is warm and inviting. Gran is outside when we arrive, on her knees in the dirt, digging around her flower bed. Her face changes quickly from surprise to glee as she watches her grandson approach, followed by two very live, very real friends. She welcomes them before heading inside to change clothes. Ford starts a pot of water boiling and it isn’t long before the three of them are seated around a fantastic Italian meal. I watch from the sidelines, seated on the now–cluttered kitchen counter, chin resting in my hands. I laugh along with the others as Riley comically slurps a noodle into his mouth. I nod and listen as Shannon chats emphatically with Gran about what plans she has for the summer. Ford looks my way only once toward the end of the meal, as if an afterthought, as if he’s forgotten I’m even there.

They talk a long while after dinner. Gran heads to bed, graciously leaving Ford and his friends alone. The three of them huddle around the table, laughing and talking, gossiping about their fellow classmates. Three outcasts united.

Riley is the first to yawn, and it soon spreads like a contagion. Shannon follows him out the door, waiting almost expectantly on the front porch.

“This was fun,” she says, hiding a smile. “Your grandmother seems really nice.”

Ford stays in the doorway, waving as Riley trudges the driveway. “Yeah,” he agrees. “She’s great. She’d love to have you guys over again sometime.”

She beams. “Definitely! Or maybe you could come to my house next time. You know . . .  if you want.”

“Sounds great. I’ll tell Riley.”

Her grin falters. “Oh. Yeah. Riley. That could be fun.”

Ford appears confused at her sudden loss of giddiness. I step forward to help the poor kid out. “She’s asking you over to her house, doofus,” I hiss. “Why would you invite Riley?”

It’s as if a light bulb goes on over his head. “Oh!” he practically shouts. “Oh. Or maybe we could just hang. You know . . .  the two of us. If that’s okay?”

Her winning smile is back in a flash. “Yeah, sounds wonderful.” There’s a moment of awkward silence in which she leans forward, tilting her face slightly upward. I know what she’s after. It’s the internationally recognized sign for “kiss me you fool”.

Ford, ever observant, is not one to pick up on the hint. “Okay,” he says. “I guess I’ll see you at school tomorrow!”

Shannon turns on her heel and follows after Riley.

“You idiot,” I say after she’s gone.

He turns as if surprised to see me. “What?”

“Could you be any more dense? She was practically begging you to kiss her!”

“No she wasn’t!” he shouts back, only to have a look of horror spread across his face. “Was she?”

I nod and glare.

“Oh, crap,” he moans, turning back inside the house. “How was I supposed to know?!”

“She was giving you every signal in the book! How could you
not
have known?”

He collapses once again at the kitchen table. I take a seat next to him. “Why do girls have to be so complicated? If she wanted me to kiss her, why didn’t she just say so?”

I shrug. “That’s not how we roll.”

“This coming from the queen of mixed signals.”

“Hey, watch it. In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve let my personal life take a bit of a back seat to keeping you alive. And not to toot my own horn, but uh,
beep beep.
I mean, no one’s tried to kill you like at all this week.”

He eases into a laugh. “You’re right,” he says after a moment. “And if nothing else, whenever I do finally kick the bucket, at least I’ll know someone when I get there. Do you think you could maybe get me a job as a Guardian fifty or so years from now?”

“I wouldn’t bet on it. They don’t even really like
me
being a Guardian, so you may not want to list me as a reference. Truth be told, I think I might have pushed away the one person who truly believed in me, and I don’t think he’s coming back. So it just goes to show you . . .”

“I believe in you.”

I stare up into eager, expressive eyes. “I know you do, Ford. But . . .”

“But you wish I was Tucker, don’t you?”

I offer him a small nod, admitting the words I’ve been afraid to say with a quick dip of my head. “I don’t get it! I can’t stop thinking about it. Maybe . . maybe Tucker was who I was supposed to be with all along. Except that would be crazy, right? I never would have met him if I hadn’t died. And who in their right mind thinks dying at seventeen is what was supposed to happen to them?” I bring a sudden halt to my tirade, unsure of whether or not to speak what I know will eventually bubble over. “I don’t know,” I begin, stalling the instant it breaks free of my mouth. Because it isn’t true. I
do
know. I take a deep breath and continue. “I . . . may . . . love him.”

Ford says nothing, places an arm around my shoulders in what can only be a gesture of pity for the heartbroken dead girl.

“Don’t judge me,” I groan, resting my head in the crook of his neck.

He chuckles and pats me gently on the head. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

I laugh and place a quick, grateful peck of friendship on his cheek. The soft tingle of a five o’clock shadow against my lips makes me want to cry from the sheer intimacy of contact. I allow them to linger an instant longer than they should.

The reluctant though understanding smile I have planned as I pull away fades instantly. Something flickers into view just over the dip in Ford’s left shoulder. A light. No, the dimming of a light, its faint source fading into nothingness along with a face so twisted with disappointment it’s almost unrecognizable.

Almost.

Tuck.