Free Of Delicate Pieces by A. Lynden Rolland Page A

through the gate.” She snatched Alex’s hand. “Come on! What are you doing?”
    But Alex couldn’t move. Once as a child, Alex was so wrapped up in a game of capture the flag that she hadn’t noticed a copperhead snake coiled three inches from her foot. Its thick, scaly body pulsated as it watched her. Fear struck her, freezing her mind and trickling ice down her spine.
    The same sensation struck her now as she felt tiny hands clasp her shin. She shut her eyes tightly, hoping it would go away. Whatever it was, it let go momentarily before wrapping its whole arm around her leg, and its hair brushed against her.
    Alex opened one eye. Then, another. Look down , she commanded to herself. A barefoot toddler clung to her. Her white cotton dress matched her white, silky hair, which rippled down her back until it ended in a crashing of curls like the break of a waterfall. Alex stared at the child who stared right back.
    “Pick her up,” Skye commanded.
    “Why?” Alex cried.
    “Because she’s stuck to you, and we can’t stay out here in the open.”
    “Is she bad?”
    “No. Pick her up.”
    The child reached up, outstretching her short arms. Alex didn’t know what else to do but obey.
    “The bodied can’t get through the barrier of the gate.”
    Alex scooped up the girl and cradled her like a baby. “Can she get through?”
    “Of course she can,” Skye spat. “Can’t you distinguish the dead from the living? No breathing child looks like that!”
    Once they were safely on the other side, Skye stopped and grabbed hold of the interweaving bars, peering into the unknown.
    “Are you sure there was someone?”
    “It was one of the gifted.”
    “Not her though?” Alex jutted her chin at the child.
    “No. I already told you she’s dead. And you can put her down.”
    Alex set the child on her feet.
    Skye shivered violently, and her hair rippled like a curtain in the breeze. “I don’t think my body will ever abandon old habits.”
    Alex didn’t understand why the gifted should be so feared. She thought of her friend, Liv, and her endless supply of jokes. “I knew someone gifted growing up, and she was ordinary.”
    “Then you never saw her trying to do anything out of the ordinary.”
    That was true. “Can you touch the gate or anything else to see if it saw her?”
    “Good idea.”
    While Skye played patty cake with nature, Alex surveyed the little girl in wonder, mesmerized. Pink cheeks glistened under a perfectly sculpted nose. With her tiny hands, she tugged at Alex forcing her to crouch down. The girl reached to cup Alex’s face.
    Skye ran her fingers through her hair. “Nothing. But the fog is rising, and that’s not a good omen.”
    The girl nodded empathically.
    “We’d better go talk to Duvall,” Skye said.
    But by the time they passed the field of gray crosses and reached the frozen creek, they couldn’t remember what had frightened them. They knew they hadn’t completed their task, but they didn’t know what had scared them enough to make them leave. They scratched their heads and wracked their intelligent brains, but each time they opened the bag to see that it was only half full, the haze of forgetfulness deepened.
    The child followed, shaking her head. Alex wondered why she kept peering past them into the woods beyond the gate.

Chapter Seven
     
     
    When they were alive, Chase’s brothers ridiculed him for being so optimistic. He knew they loved him for it. They said he could see the light in any situation. But then he died, and life’s cruel intentions shaded his vision. He’d been forced to sit and watch Alex shrivel into nearly nothing before death decided she’d suffered enough. His lively, witty Alex was more of a ghost at the end of her life than she was now. The sight still haunted him enough to scare the optimism out of him. Death made him skeptical.
    This tiny, ghost-child also made him skeptical. Not because of her colors. It took only a glance to see her purity. A