Be the Death of Me (23 page)

The Captain

One hundred and forty–seven.

One hundred and forty–seven years I’ve held my post as leader of the Guardians. One hundred and forty–seven years, and never once has there been an uproar quite like this.

Holding a position as long as I have, there is always the threat of becoming stagnant in your work; becoming fixed in your ways, unchangeable. I know how my Guardians see me, a stubborn old fool so out of touch with a world he can no longer tell the difference between calculation and compassion.

No more.

One hundred and forty–seven years of peace and quiet before Foster came along, before that walking cataclysm of a girl first shot me that damned smug grin of hers and proceeded to shake up my entire operation. Foster with her attitude and her nicknames, leave it to her to be the downfall of order and structure. Leave it to her to fight the unbeatable. Long ago, I learned not to stand in the way of an oncoming flood, and Foster may as well be a tidal wave, unstoppable, unpredictable, a force of nature. I suppose that’s why I’m so hard on her. I see her for what she could be.

Sugar and spice and everything nice, that’s what little girls are made of; what
my
girls have been made of. One sugar, one spice. One fire, one ice. As hot as Foster burns, another little girl remained as sweet and temperate as a spring breeze.

I reach into my shirt and pull from the breast pocket the single reminder I’m permitted to keep of my past life, a life surrendered so long ago. Lovely and clean, the flower’s petals shine white and blue, white and red, white and blue beneath the throng of flashing lights.

The memory of the tiny, rosy–cheeked child, all joy and innocence, still makes my eyes burn uncomfortably; the remembrance of my daughter’s arms thrown around my neck, kissing me sloppily on the cheek. She hands me a white flower from within the folds of her nightgown before staring up at me with a pair of the clearest, bluest eyes I have ever seen.

Until Foster.

I roll my neck in a circle, feeling the old muscles and bones pull with what could perhaps be mistaken for fatigue. But, no. It’s been so long since I was weary, since I felt human, should sensation ever return, I doubt I would even recognize it.

As though handling glass, I kiss the petals of my daughter’s immortal flower, and place it back into its rightful place. Stepping unseen through the evening fog, the shadows and gloom I mistook for the unknown begin taking form, materializing out of mist. Automobiles of all shapes and sizes obscure what is now a field of battle. Men in uniform load the bodies of two young boys into the backs of identical ambulances. The hulking vehicles drive off, jolting over each tier of demolished earth.

Beyond the police, beyond the ruined hills and desecrated graves sits a young man, head bowed over a figure draped across his lap. His long arms embrace the limp form, rocking it, cradling it to his chest where a head of silver hair flows like water. I watch as he presses soft lips to a cheek slowly fading into stardust and light.

Tucker glances up as I approach, his face twisted and ravaged by suffering.

I extend a hand through the blackness and say the only words he needs to hear.

“Come with me.”

Billie

Fight.

How strange. I thought I’d forgotten how to dream. It’s been so long since sleep has graced me with its presence, I’d almost begun to believe the shores of slumber were nothing more than a myth.

Fight.

Pain is gone. Time is gone. Fear is gone. And yet there’s something strange about this void, this nightmare. It isn’t what I expected. It isn’t a hazy memory or shadow. This world is heightened, alive; my thoughts deep and even. Every nerve in my skin longs to reach out and touch the obscurity. Wherever I am is solid. Real.

“Come with me.”

I know that voice. It’s familiar but distant, like a dream you can’t quite remember in the morning. A face, aged and stern, drifts to the forefront of my mind, swirling through the murky waters clouding my psyche.

I’m lifted from the ground, floating in the gentlest of arms. Somewhere in the far, untouched regions of my mind burns a word, one I’ve been taught to fear. But if this truly is the end of ends, if I am being taken, I can’t help but think it isn’t such a bad way to go. If I have to pay for my moment of resting in the arms of salvation with an eternity of pain and torment, I will. I’m not afraid.

I wish they knew that.

Fight.

What does it matter? I could tell them how much I love them–
loved
them. But what would it change? Those in my life, those in my afterlife, they defined me. They completed me. And they will go on without me. Memories, all I have left, unite, shadows dancing before me.

I am six and my mother tends to a cut on my finger, leaning her face to my hand, bandaging it with a kiss. My sister, awkward and skinny, waves at me and my friends in the mall. I pretend I don’t know her, and the scene changes to one of her bouncing a child on her hip, smiling down at him, staring into blue eyes that reflect her lost sister.

My best friend and I dance at my sixteenth birthday party, addicted to the music and excitement of another year of life. Her caramel skin shines with sweat, her hips swaying in time with the beat, and I swear tonight is the best night of my life. A black haired boy brings a cake from the kitchen, green eyes glowing over lit candles. I blow them out and soon he is kissing icing off my nose. The picture is different now. The boy is a man, slicing a wedding cake, feeding it to a beautiful woman in white at his side. They are enveloped by love and happiness.

A gruff, begrudging mentor stands before a pale blue sky, a wall of illusion. His black eyes know so much, but give nothing without the hope of a lesson learned. Then a boy, alive, wiry and sarcastic, yet so lonely. His face is lost to me now, the hint of an ironic smile all that remains. I know only that I will miss him.

I allow myself to be pulled away, the eager faces of my past and present emerging out of the looming darkness, guiding me on, welcoming me to my final destination.

Fight.

I hear the word brush against my neck like a stray desert wind. I know now who is holding me, carrying me in my final moments. I want to answer the plea of the man I love. I want to tell him that it will be okay, and that it’s not the end. And that no matter where they take me, no matter what they do to me, I will never,
never
forget him.

Find peace, Tuck. I love you.

The world spins into darkness and I feel myself fall.

Tucker

I open my eyes to a harsh reality constructed of fluorescent lighting and silence. The only sound comes from the gentle beep of a heart monitor where it sits camouflaged in a shadowed warren. The room is painfully familiar, made so by the eerie quiet that falls over us like a veil. I feel ancient, thousands upon thousands of years old. My eyes burn, my muscles ache with despair.

“Why did you bring me here?”

The Captain stares down at the body resting in the bed below us, hands gripped around the boundary of metal rails. The figure lies as though sleeping, her face pale, white as a sheet, as snow, as a ghost. The once ripe lips are now gray and drawn into a thin line.

“Shannon Marie Walters died at 6:37 this evening,” he begins slowly, kindly even. “By now she is no more alive than the instruments and wires keeping her body functioning. Her parents will turn off her machines within the hour, whereupon her paperwork will be filed and she will either move on or find employment amongst our kind.”

I look down into the face of Ford’s lovely friend. “Why are you telling me this? It doesn’t matter if she’s dying or dead.”

“It does, my young friend.” And to my surprise, the Captain reaches a knotted hand to stroke at the waterfall of wild blonde hair splayed across my arm.

I want to snap at his hand like a feral animal. How dare he touch her now.

“This is your fault,” I growl, feeling my jaw clench in anger. Not even the beautiful expression of peace I see on Billie’s face can calm me. “You were supposed to speak with the Elders. You were supposed to help her! What good are you if you can’t even do your job?” I lay my forehead against Billie’s and cry, tearless and broken. The sound is pitiful, a man with nothing left to lose. “I promised I would take care of her.”

The old man’s weathered and worn face falls. “You still can,” he says, once again turning to face Shannon. He reaches to brush back her crop of coffee–colored hair, the only part left of her that rings truly alive.

“I’ve said it before, Mr. Reid. You and I are very much alike.” The Captain turns his ebony eyes on me. “Your relationship with Foster aside, why do you think I selected you to be a member of my team? Do not think you are the first Guardian to be promoted from Sacrifice.” Beneath the room’s dull lighting, his black clothing shines like the cloak of the Grim Reaper himself. His words wash over me in cool waves of understanding.

“You . . .  you mean?” I stammer, made dense with the sudden knowledge. “You’re one of us?” He nods. “Why didn’t you say anything? You could have done something! You could have helped! You could have . . .  saved her.”

“I
can
save her,” he offers a sad smile. “Don’t you understand? We’re given these gifts for a purpose. We’re not meant to know all the answers, Tucker, but there is always reason, hidden amongst the mysteries.”

“You’re saying there’s a reason behind . . 
this
?”

“No one can explain why horrible things happen to such lovely creatures.” His old eyes shift to the broken girl in the bed. Her face is white and empty, a mere shadow of the beauty it once possessed. “We do what we must to fight the inevitable, even after death. You could not save the girl you loved so many years ago. You crave redemption? Here is your chance. It’s what’s meant to be. You were always meant to rescue Foster.”

“How?”

“Those who put their very souls on the line for another are given abilities no others in our world possess. Each of our sacrifices are different, and therefore, each gift unique. You gave up your life for the woman you love. I, for my flesh and blood, for which I was rewarded with the ability to restore what was taken. I don’t understand why we are burdened with these
gifts
. We didn’t ask to be special. I find no joy in this, please know that.”

He meets my eye and I understand.
Perhaps the time has come to finally let her go.
The Captain’s order from an hour ago–that now seems eons in the past–rings in my ears. Either way, I’m going to lose her. There is no changing the inevitable.

“Why me?” I whisper.

“Because I won’t take what isn’t mine,” he says, his voice bare of emotion.

“But she . . .” I can’t bear to speak the words I know will break my heart. “She won’t be . . .  Billie.”

“No, she won’t.” The Captain bows his head. I shut my eyes against the cruelty of the situation I find myself in. “It’s true she will no longer look like herself,” he says, placing a hand on my shoulder. “It’s true she will have a new life, new memories. But regardless of whether she believes she is Miss Walters or not, a piece of her will remain alive. Inside. That spark, that fire Foster carries within her, nothing can diminish that.”

I press my lips to her forehead. She’s fading fast. I can almost see my arms through her body, like light through tissue paper. Soon there will be nothing left to hold.

“Please,” I murmur into her hair. “Please don’t make me choose.”

“No one can make you choose, Mr. Reid, but this is your last chance to save her. You have suffered and borne pain and sorrow that most men can’t even imagine. What you know now would drive weaker men to insanity. And yet you stand here, still determined, still strong. Don’t you understand what’s happening? She’s fighting for you. Foster is fighting the unbeatable, holding on to save you from more pain. But she can’t hang on forever. The Elders will soon discover something is amiss, and let me assure you, they will not be so kind to either of us should we be discovered.”

“Let them come.”

It’s surprising to hear just how true the words ring in my ears, how easy they spring forth. I would go willingly, happily in her place. Perhaps if I’m taken they will have no need for Billie. I gave up my life for her once before. I would do it again if I knew she would be released from the torment awaiting her.

No. Judges, jury and executioners, the Elders would never let someone go. Not when the rules have been broken. Billie was willing to give up everything in order to keep her promise to Ford, and if they feel she should be punished, there is nothing that can stop them.

I squeeze my hands around the wilting body in my arms, pressing my cheek to the fragile light and glass that is her face. I let my eyes linger over Billie and Shannon, both pale, both unmoving, and my heart breaks once again. Another piece fractures from what remains of a soul that had been so close to repair. I’m not sure why it shatters this time. For me? For Billie? For the decision I know I’ve already made?

Shannon’s family will rejoice in the miracle. They will weep and laugh and cry tears of joy for their baby girl, returned from the darkness I now choose to be a part of. I could stand here, in this spot forever, until time ceases to exist. Until the world ends and the stars go out, that’s how long I’m tempted to remain holding Billie. But her glow fades even as I watch, the soft blue slipping away with each passing second. We don’t have forever. What we do have is hope. And patience. And love.

Billie will live. She’ll have the life she was robbed of. She’ll live to explore, and love, and find happiness. Live to watch her children and her children’s children grow and have adventures of their own.

And I will wait. For as long as it takes, I will wait, a fixed point in time, never moving on, never going back. Time will pass as if nothing at all; the months into years, the years into decades. And one day, one day out of thousands, I will see her again. Not as she will be, but as she once was. Beautiful and dangerous and mine.

I turn to the man in black at my side. “So is this it? Is this how it ends?”

His smile is faint. “My boy, I think this is a beginning.”

I nod and the Captain begins his work. Reaching a hand through the stillness, he places a palm over Shannon’s heart

I place my lips to hers a final time. “Please don’t forget me.”

With those words, a violent surge of energy courses through Shannon, stemming deep within her chest, flowing through her legs, her arms, her fingertips. Her tiny body jolts with the sudden presence of power, twisting, coiling with the force. Her lungs fill with a gasp. I don’t know what the Captain is doing, or how he came to gain such strange, terrible powers. I force my mind to concentrate on what must be done, understanding what might have been, what can be, and what will never be again. Shannon’s heart sings, ringing through the silence, a song of longing, the sound burning my ears like a hot brand. The bell continues, calling to its other half. Her heart, Billie’s heart, now one.

At the same moment, Billie’s wilting form swells with the transfer of light. I close my eyes. I feel her spine arch in arms, pulled by an unseen connection. I bury my fingers in her skin, my heart unwilling to let her go.

Someone cries out, and when I open my eyes, my arms are empty.