Be the Death of Me (3 page)

Then, without another word or glance in my direction, both of them vanish, leaving only a soft shimmer of light in their place.

That’s when I start screaming.

Tucker

“Can you believe him?”

Billie whirls on me the instant we’re through the Captain’s door, her face a mask of incredulity and anger. “I mean, come on! How can he do this to us?”

The way she says “us” sends a tiny, hypothetical shiver of happiness through my body.

“Telling us we’ll just have to work around our little problem?” she rants. “The guy can see us for crying out loud! I don’t see how we’re supposed to get around that.” She whips back to the front, flinging her hair in a circle of light behind her. “And then throwing us out of his office? What’s up with that?”

“Well, you did call him a bitter, power–crazed old man who wouldn’t know sympathy if it bit him on the ass,” I say.

“Some people can be so touchy.”

“Yeah, imagine that.” I laugh. I pick up the pace, loping along at her side. “So I guess we know what we have to do now.”

“What?” She turns to face me. “Cap seemed to think our perfectly reasonable request of asking for a new assignment was way out of line.”

I smile down at her. “We go back.”

“To the Captain? Good luck.”

I shake my head, feeling my bangs slide into my eyes. If only I had gotten them trimmed like my father suggested, I wouldn’t have to deal with the eternal problem of not being able to see. I push my hair back with my hand. “Not to the Captain,” I tell her. “To work.”

She halts mid–step, her eyes wide as they stare up at me in identical blue pools of disbelief.

“Why do we need a new assignment?” I start again, trying my best not to laugh at the expression of incredulity on her face. “I’ve been thinking about it, and the Captain’s right. This could work. It’s weird, yeah, but I think being seen is actually kind of fortuitous. Maybe it’ll make our job easier.”

“Easier?” She purses her lips together, and her eyes flash with a spark of insight. “Exactly how much easier are we talking about here?”

I should have known this would be the one angle she would choose to go along with. “Really?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “You’re
that
lazy?”

She pauses as if genuinely considering. “Possibly.”

Unbelievable.

“However,” she says before I have a chance to get another word in. She spins on her heel, walking backward so we can talk face to face, “after giving your idea a considerable amount of thought . . .”

“You mean the two seconds it took you to realize I’m right?”

“. . . I’ve decided to stay with the assignment.”

“How very noble of you.”

She smiles and spins on her heel, leaving me no choice but to follow after. As if I would ever choose differently.

A black canister zooms by as we make our way back through Human Resources, up and out of sight. With only one tube for both incoming and outgoing messages, I’ve never been able to understand how the containers pass one another without colliding. One would assume the canisters would eventually meet, succeeding in blocking the passage and preventing communication. But the clear, long cylinder remains perpetually open for messages to dispatch without ever offering a single explanation as to how it stays that way.

“Oh, Mr. Reid!”

The voice belongs to Abby, the friendly receptionist I met earlier. She’s waving me over with one hand, holding down the button to a small, black callbox with the other.

“Mr. Reid,” she says as soon as I reach her side of the office.

“Please. Call me Tucker,” I say, laying on the charm.

“No thanks,” she smiles. “Mr. Reid, the Captain wants to see you in his office ASAP.”

I glance around, confused. “I just left his office,” I tell her, not completely understanding the message.  “In fact, I vaguely remember being thrown out. Are you sure you’ve got the right Mr. Reid?”

“NOW, TUCKER!” the Captain’s deep voice issues from the intercom on her desk. A few Guardians standing within earshot snicker at his tone.

Abby’s smile doesn’t remotely falter. “I’m sure.”

“What’s the hold up ?” Billie asks, sauntering over, hands slipped into her jean pockets.

“The Captain wants to see me.”

Her brow furrows in puzzlement. “But we were just in there,” she says, glancing at Abby. “In fact, I vaguely recall being thrown out.”

I shrug and cock my head toward the desk. “I tried telling her that.”

“I DON’T LIKE BEING KEPT WAITING,” the Captain’s voice rings once more.

Billie composes herself and leans down to speak into the callbox. “We’ll be right in, Cap.”

“NOT YOU, FOSTER,” comes the reply through the crackling speaker. “I ASKED FOR MR. REID, WHO, I MIGHT ADD, IS STILL NOT IN MY OFFICE!”

Message received. “Wait here,” I tell Billie, sprinting back down the familiar hallway. I reach the Captain’s office in record time, bursting through the door without knocking.

“Sit,” he says, hardly glancing up from the stack of papers on his desk. He begins separating them into two piles as I take a seat at the opposite side.

“I’m glad you found time to fit me into your busy schedule, Mr. Reid,” he says after a moment of shuffling papers, his ginger head backed by a wall of perfect blue sky.

I decide to play along. “No sweat,” I offer with a chuckle. “Anything for you, Captain.”

“Your derision is not appreciated in this office.”

“Right. Of course not,” I gulp. “Sorry, sir. I just don’t understand why I’m back here.”

“You’re here because I told you to be here.” He pushes himself up and out of his chair. “And because I believe you and I share a common interest.”

“Common interest?” I query, turning in my seat so I can continue to face him as he slides around the desk. “You mean Benedict Ford?”

“Not quite,” he replies coolly, strolling to the far side of the office. He halts at the door only a moment, grasping the handle and flinging it open in one swift movement.

To my surprise, Billie falls through, landing on the floor in a heap.

“Oh, hey guys!” she smiles, climbing quickly to her feet. “I didn’t mean to interrupt or anything. And I certainly wasn’t eavesdropping if that’s what you’re thinking. I was just taking a walk, you know, down the hall, completely not listening at the door, and I could have sworn I heard this super strange noise coming from inside the office. Like a buzz . . . or a hiss . . . or something. Anyway, I thought I would check it out for you. Funny, I don’t hear it anymore.”

She continues rambling as the Captain takes her by the forearm and ushers her out the door.

“Okay! Good talk! Glad I could help. Let me know if you need anything else! Just say the word and I can be here in a flash! Don’t hesitate to call. I wasn’t eavesdropping, I swear! Son of a–”

Her dubious goodbye is cut short by the door slamming in her face.

“I’m talking about Foster,” the Captain continues as if there’s been no interruption.

“Billie?” My back stiffens instinctively. “What about her?”

He returns to his plush office chair. “No doubt you’re already aware that Foster can often be . . .”

Challenging? Beautiful? Everything I could ever want?

“. . . a pain in the ass. Particularly when it comes to taking orders,” he continues with a slight grimace. “I’ve already spoken to her about the importance of this assignment. Clearly, it has gone in one ear and out the other. Which is why,” he says, folding his hands on his desk, “you and I need to work together on this.”

“Work together?” I stammer after a minute of silence. “I thought we . . . I mean, we
are
working together, sir. I’m a Guardian now.”

“Calm down, Tucker,” he holds up a hand for silence. “I’m not questioning your devotion to the job. I’m merely asking for a favor.”

“Sure,” I tell him, hoping I don’t sound overly eager. “Anything. Just name it.”

“You’ve already stumbled across what is certainly the strangest occurrence I’ve heard of in my time as head of this department. Rest assured I will be personally looking into the situation.”

He clears his throat and gingerly fingers the snow white flower petals sticking out the top of his shirt pocket. “It’s one of the reasons I feel now is the best time to speak to you about what I think is a very serious matter. I never would have given Foster this assignment had I known the difficulties you two would be facing. Trouble seems to follow her without encouragement, and here it seems I’ve unknowingly added fuel to the fire.

“You see, when the higher–ups of this organization asked me to recommend someone for promotion, I thought of you for two reasons. The first being that having someone from Sacrifice working as a Guardian would put the odds of success drastically in our favor. Surely you can understand how your specific talents might be of use in this line of work.

“Secondly,” he continues without waiting for a reply. His eyes are so shaded, so dark they look almost black. “Certain people may lead you to believe that I am some sort of an unrelenting dictator, but I know my Guardians better than my superiors could ever dream. I know every agent, every file and history like the back of my hand. Which is why, through Foster, I now know you.”

I don’t speak, just continue staring wordlessly at the man from whom there are no secrets.

“You and I are very much alike, Mr. Reid. It may not seem like it now, but I was quite similar to you when I was young. Dependable. Determined. Loyal to the point of self–destruction. So I understand what she means to you.” His gruff voice has turned surprisingly gentle. “I understand that your relationship with her goes deeper than she realizes. You care for her well–being, and as such, her success. So I am asking you, Tucker, man–to–man, to do everything in your power to make sure this assignment ends well. Regardless of my, dare I say,
volatile
relationship with Foster, I cannot afford to lose a member of my team.”

My ears perk at his choice of words. “Wait a minute. What do you mean, ‘lose a member of your team?’” I ask, resting my elbows on the tops of my legs. “Is something going to happen to Billie?”

He remains silent.

“Tell me!”

This time he doesn’t hesitate.

“They’ll take her.”

There it is. The worst reply I could possibly imagine. There isn’t much to be frightened of once the worst has happened to a person. Yet the dead have only one worry in the afterlife, one fear. Being taken. The horror of it sticks in my throat with a staleness that captures my tongue. The thought of it happening to Billie makes me sick. I’m forced to turn away, feeling the muscles in my neck strain with the effort to remain calm.

`“They can’t do that,” I growl through clenched teeth.

“They can,” he says calmly. “And they will.”

I’m out of my chair, pacing from one side of the room to the other in a matter of seconds. “How can you let that happen?” I shout, slamming my hand against the nearest wall. “She’s a Guardian! She’s one of you! You would just let them take her?”

“I have no say in the matter,” he says, showing the smallest sign of genuine regret. “She’s squandered both her and our time by not taking her job seriously. Lives have been lost due to her recklessness and lack of attention, and as a result, there are many who feel she’s run out of chances. However, nothing is set in stone. If Foster takes this assignment seriously and behaves like a Guardian should, I doubt we’ll have anything to worry about.”

I turn and start toward the door. “In fact, I’m pleased you feel this way,” he calls to my hastily retreating back. “Your fear of losing her can stop the worst from happening!”

I’m gone before he has a chance to stop me, the echo of his words crashing around my ears like thunder as I run from the room.

Billie

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask for what’s probably the twentieth time in ten minutes. “Because you don’t look okay.”

“I’m fine, Billie. Stop asking.”

Liar.
I’m the absolute worst at reading–or caring in most cases–about others’ feelings, but even
I
can tell he’s far from fine. For starters, he refuses to look at me. His eyes haven’t drifted my way once since he practically tore out of the Captain’s office, running like a fugitive from justice.

I try smiling. Smiles are contagious, or at least that’s what they tell me. Mine, however, has no effect on him. He seems impervious to my womanly charms.

I’m not sure how I feel about that.

“So,” I say as the silver, uber–reflective elevator doors open and we step inside. “Back to
casa de Benedict
?”

He doesn’t answer, buried in his thoughts, lost to whatever battle is raging inside his head.

“Hello? Earth to Tuck?” I croon, trying out the nickname.

A face turns to look at me, but it isn’t his. It’s the face of a ghost, the ghost of a ghost. Torn, angry, frightened, it scares me more than I would have thought possible.

It takes only an instant for him to see his own emotions mirrored in my eyes, and with a quick shake of his straw covered head, he’s back, free from care and fueled by reckless bravado.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, lips pulling into a grin. “What were you saying?”

Whatever was troubling him seems to have passed. Mr. Hyde is gone, and I’m left to try and figure out the Jekyll present. “I asked if we’re heading back to Mr. Ford’s house.”

“Mr. Ford?” he laughs gently. “When did you turn into a middle–aged insurance salesman?”

“Around the same time you temporarily lost your mind.”

“I didn’t lose my mind,” he saays, pushing the already lit call button for the ground floor. “But to answer your question, yes. We’re heading back.”

“Good,” I say after a minute of listening to nothing but the soft hum of the elevator as it carries us dirt–side. I’ve never understood, even after all these years, how the dead are capable of invisibility, walking through walls, protecting the living, basically reveling in the wonder of being all–powerful, and yet we still cannot build an express elevator. “So let me ask you something.”

Tuck turns his shaggy head to look down at me. “Shoot,” he says.

“You and I went to the same high school.”

“That’s not a question.”

“I’m aware,” I cut back in. “My question is, and please don’t take this the wrong way, but if we went to the same school, why don’t I remember you?”

A bitter laugh bubbles its way up his throat. “We didn’t exactly run in the same circles.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you were popular, and I wasn’t.”

Maybe it’s the blunt force with which he says it, but his words force me to cringe. He’s not telling me anything that isn’t true, but it still makes me twist and ache with discomfort.

“We met a couple of times,” he goes on with an odd rumble in his throat. “You even talked to me once. Freshman year. You . . .”

“I what?” I say, genuinely curious. I can’t explain it but I feel as though I
have
to know.

“I wasn’t having the best day,” he answers. “Some older kids from the wrestling team were messing with me, kicking my backpack around the hallway, playing keep away. And you just . . . appeared. You were small, even then. Couldn’t have weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet, and you walked right up to one of them and demanded they give my stuff back.”

I stare up at him, but he’s lost in his memories, not seeing what’s around him.

“I couldn’t believe it,” he laughs. “I don’t think they could either. But there you were, twigs for legs, a blue ribbon in your hair, and the most frightening scowl of righteous fury I’ve ever seen.” He pauses for a moment to smile. “They didn’t stand a chance.”

Even I’m not heartless enough to tell him what I’m really thinking. That I don’t remember any of this. That the ribbon and the scowl and the story he’s clearly held onto don’t register. “Then what happened?” I ask, my own story a mystery to me.

He buries his disappointment. “They gave me back my bag, and you and I went our separate ways.”

“Separate ways? Why didn’t you try to talk to me?”

“Come on, Billie. You know why.”

I do. Freshman year was when I discovered the benefits of makeup and padded undergarments. I was quick to learn the art of social climbing, and my looks were a one way pass to the top of the ladder. That brief moment with Tuck was probably no more than a last ditch attempt at redemption, to prove to myself that I hadn’t already sold my soul for popularity. I doubt it mattered in the grand scheme of things. It was probably too late for me anyway.

It’s funny. Looking back, none of it seems to matter now, those moments of yearning, craving to belong with people I thought mattered. No more fragments of glass, pieces of a broken mirror you can’t put back together and wouldn’t want to even if you could.

My voice is no more than a whisper. “Was I . . . you know . . . ?”

“No,” he looks me in the eye, somehow reading my thoughts. “No, you weren’t cruel to me. That would have required you to notice me, and you didn’t. You just . . . didn’t see me.”

Without warning, I’m suddenly pushed beneath a sea of an emotion I haven’t experienced in years, buffeted against inescapable, smothering waves of guilt. I don’t take my eyes from his as I say the only words that need to be said.

“I’m sorry,” I offer with a small shrug.

The corners of his eyes crinkle with a grin, and I notice for the first time that the identical circles of hazel are enclosed by matching bands of shamrock green. “I thought you hated fake apologies,” he says.

I smile back. “Who says I’m being fake?”

I stare up into his face, so earnest, so eager. His mouth pulls into a smile, and I find myself studying his bottom lip. It’s fuller than its top counterpart, and for an insane, fleeting second, I wonder what it tastes like.
God, I miss taste.

The elevator comes to a halt, jarring noiselessly under our feet, breaking whatever strange connection was present only a moment before.

“Onward?” he asks as we wait for the doors to open.

I nod. “What’s the plan? We’re just going to talk to the guy? Play a little good cop, bad cop?”

“I guess that’s our only option,” Tuck replies, sighing. “I can’t imagine what’s going through his head right now. He probably thinks he’s going crazy.”

“That could actually work for us,” I suggest. “He can’t be in danger if he’s locked in padded cell, right?”

He chuckles softly to himself. “Don’t be ridiculous. Let’s at least talk to him first before having him committed, okay? You never know. It’s been a few days. Maybe he’s forgotten the whole thing already.”

“Yeah, that seems likely.”

“Ok, maybe not. One question though,” he says as the doors finally slide open, releasing us from confinement. “Can I be the bad cop?”

I take the end of his silk necktie between my fingers and lead him outside, a puppy on a leash. “Now who’s being ridiculous?”