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“Easier? Benny, I wish I could tell you that the world was a better place than it is,” Tom said quietly. “Or that it’s all going to be easier. But you know it isn’t, and I think you knew that before you walked through the fence back home. Nix is looking for something perfect.”
“I know. And we keep not finding it.”
“Perfect doesn’t exist. Not like she thinks. There’s a lot of hurt out here. A lot of pain, and a lot of people doing bad things.”
“Is that all there is? Hard times and bad people?”
Tom smiled. “I didn’t say that everyone was bad. I said that there are people doing bad things. Some of them, but not all of them. You met some good ones too. You know that, right?”
“I know.”
“This is the world, Benny. It’s seldom what we expect it to be.” He took his hand away. “But here’s the secret, here’s the thing I wanted to say.”
“What?”
Tom smiled. “You can fix the world. You, Nix . . . your generation. You can fix the world and make it right.”
“You mean put it back the way it was?”
“Was it right the way it was?”
“No.”
“Then there’s your answer.” He cocked his head. “You already know this, though. Don’t you?”
Benny thought about it.
“I guess so.” He looked up at Tom. “Does that mean you’re not really here and that this is some kind of coma thing? Like I’m having one of those vision thingies they talk about in books?”
Tom gave an elaborate shrug. “How would I know, little brother? You’re the hero with the magic sword. I’m just a ghost—who is considerably better-looking than you.”
“Hey!”
“I’m just saying.”
They stood there, grinning at each other.
“I love you, Tom.”
“Love you too, Benny.”
Tom turned and walked away, and Benny let him go.
-2-
“WELCOME BACK TO THE WORLD,” SAID PHOENIX RILEY.
Benny cranked open one eyelid and saw her perched on a chair a few feet away. “Nix,” he said, his voice as weak as a whisper. He lay on a cot surrounded by a screen of sheets hung from metal poles.
“Benny!” Nix flew to him, but her hands were so gentle and tentative. She covered his face with a hundred quick kisses.
He tried to raise his head, to kiss her, but that was impossible. His head hurt too much, and his muscles felt like limp spaghetti. Nix looked worn thin, her face pale, her red hair hanging limp.
“How . . . bad is it . . . ?” he asked, not really wanting to know.
“You . . . almost slipped away from us,” she said, and her smile was a little too bright, her laugh a bit too forced. “God . . . this was the longest week of my life!”
“Week?”
