Free Be the Death of Me by Rebecca Harris Page A

easier. Physical human contact is impossible. Even if we wanted to, we can’t. We simply float through them. Mostly we try to avoid it. We can hold on to or touch an object, but only for a limited amount of time, rarely more than a few minutes.” His eyes narrow and I can tell he’s having a difficult time understanding. “Don’t worry,” I tell him. “It took me a while to catch on, too. And let me just say that Mr. Magic here is the only person I’ve met with his particular ability.” I throw an accusing finger at Tuck.
    “How’d you get lucky enough to swing that?” he asks. I roll my eyes at his poor choice of words. “Okay, maybe not lucky. But come on. You have to admit. That is pretty sweet. How did you get it?”
    I lean forward in my chair, anxious to hear the answer to this as well. Tuck takes a minute before answering. “I died saving someone I cared about. And this ,” he flicks a single finger and instantly every cabinet in the kitchen swings opens on it’s hinges, “was my reward.” He doesn’t elaborate and neither of us push him.
    “Alright,” Ford says after another minute of awkward silence. “Good story, man.” He turns his attention on me. “So what about you? Similar outcome?”
    “Not quite. I was placed as a Guardian after those in charge categorized my death as ’untimely’. Prince Charming here,” I say, nodding to Tuck who tips an invisible hat, “was, after much discussion between the Captain and the Elders, promoted to be my partner.”
    “Boss,” Tuck coughs into his hand.
    “The Elders?” Ford asks.
    “The people in charge.”
    “So this,” Ford waves his hands at the pair of us, “this is normal?”
    “Hardly. Being seen is a first for any of our kind,” Tuck explains. “We have no idea why, but it makes you extremely fortunate if you ask me.”
    “Fortunate?” Ford asks, his tone the slightest bit doubtful.
    “Not only do you now know to watch out for yourself , you can also communicate with us if something goes wrong. You can tell us what’s going on, and we can figure out what’s trying to hurt you before it actually does. There’s no way this won’t end well. All we have to do is work together. Because together we’re strong, but divided—”
    “—I die,” Ford finishes for him.
    “Hey, what’s a two–word phrase of Spanish affection?” I say, completely oblivious to their previous conversation. “Five letters, ends in O.”
    “ Te amo ,” Tuck answers quietly.
    I keep my eyes fixed on the newspaper, counting the number of spaces. “It fits!”
    I stare down at the virtually finished puzzle. If only everything were as neat and structured as the crossword in my hands. Numbered, ordered, small squares of nothing but questions and answers. But it isn’t, and no matter how many times I might wish, my existence will never be as simple as I want. It’s murky and smudged and smothered in a constant cloud of uncertainty. There’s no hoping for something better. No prospect of stability. Sitting at this small kitchen table, between a boy I must fight to keep alive and a friend I never knew I had, I realize, y ou don’t always get to choose where you end up, but you hold on tight and do the best you can, because it’s what you have to do to get by.
    And for now, getting by is the best I can do.
    Ford leans back in his chair, flipping through the stack of mail his Gran has left for him. He tosses aside bills and coupons that are of no concern, stopping the moment he reaches a thick envelope, pausing only to read the name penciled across the front. BENDEDICT FORD. With a shrug he tears it open, withdrawing from it a single sheet of paper.
    I don’t understand at first, what has happened or why the smile has slipped from his face. I’m far too engrossed in the puzzle. Yet his hands begin to shake, rattling the paper back and forth as his large, brown eyes grow wide. Tuck is a blur as he hastens to his side of the table, staring down at