What shouldn't see daylight

The door to the apartment creaked open, but I’ve lived here long enough to know how to minimize noise. Not that it matters-- the air stinks of alcohol, which means that my mother is dead to the world sleeping it off.

Know who else should be in bed? Billie. But, apparently that’s too boring for her. I sighed and rubbed at my temples: I didn’t need yet another problem to obsess over that night. No, not obsess, never obsess-- investigate. Forgive me for being tired at two in the morning.

Billie had entirely too much energy. And as always, she focused it on annoying me. “Ley, what were you doing out so late?”

“Investigating.”

“Did you learn anything new?” She contorted her face into something resembling seriousness, but I knew it wouldn’t last-- the main reason I fired her from being my detective-minion was her absolute inability to maintain her focus for more than 10 minutes on anything other than her “fairies”. Or annoying me.

I shifted, trying to make myself more comfortable for what would undoubtedly be a long session of pestering. The deceptively ordinary-looking box I was holding cut into my arms and weighed on my mind. “I learned a lot. I’m still not sure what all of it means, but I’ll figure it out. You know me.” Why was I trying to reassure her? It’s not like I was scared of what I learned or anything like that. No way.

I shouldn’t have bothered. Her attention was already elsewhere. “What’s in the box?”

I held back a laugh, and swallowed back its bitter taste. “A false promise.”

Billie looked confused-- I guess I can’t blame her. It didn’t last long though-- soon enough, her eyes glazed over peacefully, and she started singing and making nonsensical gestures at something only she could see.

I sighed, and decided to suspend my investigation for the night-- maybe there was such a thing as knowing and suspecting too much and not having enough certainty in any of it. I shoved the unopened box beneath my bed, to join all the other thoughts that shouldn’t see the light of day but inevitably chase my mind through the night. And if maybe, if for that blurry moment between wakefulness and sleep, I saw a barely (not?) there figure returning Billie’s conversation, then… that’s more information that I’ll have to (try to) make sense of tomorrow.

Mazes and armor

My gait couldn’t seem to settle. The crocodile was weird enough, but what really got under my skin was that giggle.

I could still almost feel it echoing, shivering through my veins-- I took a deep breath, and grasped my army knife in my pocket. I centered myself, reconstructed my armor-- a good glare has given me more security than the little knife could. I seem volatile, so people don’t bother me. It works out-- neither of us have to find out whether I could deliver on the unspoken threats that people around here use like a second language.

Okay, time’s up for collecting myself. Refocus. The last one was no help, so where will there be the most potential witnesses for me to interview?

I scanned the crowd for patterns, and noticed some kids with face paint. Right. The fall festival was today.

After making my way to the park, I’ve got to say that I was not impressed. There were a few teens consuming suspicious substances around a campfire. Not that I care; I’m really not that kind of investigator. The music, if it could even be called that, just set me more on edge.

I tried to tune it out. Maybe I could find some witnesses (and blessed silence too) in the corn maze? It was worth a shot.

Then, I saw faint smoke out of the corner of my eye, deeper into the maze. It was difficult to track, since it was so insubstantial that I couldn’t see it if I tried looking straight at it. I’m me, though, so I managed.

Maybe it would have been better if I hadn’t. The wispy smoke gave way to a man made entirely of flame, and I wondered if maybe those teens put some kind of hallucinogen in the campfire or something. The man’s voice crackled like a forest fire, and carried the finality of a funeral bell, all through a single name: “Lawrence”.

The world exploded into activity. Wisps of color flitted through the corners of my eyes. Barely-there snippets of speech danced in and out of my mind. “Maize maze, mai--” “--what will be, will be. We need to let her figure--” “--who knows why they make a celebration out of us losing our lea--”

“You look just like your sister.”

...That voice was different. Concrete, not maddeningly elusive. Of this world, I thought, and quickly shook my head and put the strangeness down to the season (though I always thought make-believe was for children with nothing better to do). Finally, my brain recovered. “Huh?”

Well, somewhat recovered.

Her chocolate eyes were warm and smiling, and it helped me settle back into my mind (my world). “You’re Belinda’s sister, aren’t you? I taught her class, before everything happened.”

Nevermind whatever’s messing with my senses. This could be the lead I’ve been searching for. “Really? What can you tell me about what happened?”

Her smile was kind but sad. “I think there’s someone you need to meet. Come with me.”

As I turned to follow her, my eye caught on the grass where the flaming figure once stood-- or rather, the cinders that remained.

My breath caught. A trick of the light?

Maybe. Whatever the case, I couldn’t bring myself to look back around. Tomorrow, I swore to myself, I’ll come back tomorrow. Officially or not, I’m an investigator-- I can’t be afraid of finding answers. I won’t be. Tomorrow.

A stranger in a diner

If there’s one good thing about this blasted storm, it’s that there’s no school (“due to continuing power outages”). That means that I’m around town, looking for clues. Mom put Billie on house arrest after her little stunt, but it doesn’t seem to bother her. She’s been playing more with her “fairy friends” lately, which I don’t mind so much because it keeps her out of my hair-- and anyone who says I actually like that pest has no idea what they’re talking about. It makes Mom even more high-strung than usual, though, so there’s no way I’m staying in the apartment to be ranted at.

I stopped by the diner around noon. Thanks to whatever Dan puts in the coffee (which I’m not entirely sure is legal, but whatever), it’s usually full of possible sources. I mean, people.

I zeroed in on my target immediately. I couldn’t remember seeing the woman around before, but she had a look about her: listless, withdrawn, and moody-- more of an observer than an active participant in her life at the moment. That’s good news for me; observers have all the best info.

I sidled into the chair, and started talking before she could object. “Save it. If you want me to go away, you’ve got to tell me what you know.”

She raised an eyebrow, seeming amused more than anything else. Oh great, another grown-up wanting to patronize me. “And what is it that you want to know?”

Or maybe I can deal with her humoring me, if it means she’ll cooperate with my investigation. “What do you know about Belinda Dawn?”

She frowned at first, and then her expression cleared. My heart rate quickened. “Haven’t heard that name for a few years. Poor girl got sent away to get professional help, right?”

I tried to hold back a scowl. Everyone always spouts the same cover-up, if they bother to respond. I forced out a professional smile and a “thank you for your time”, and stood up to leave.

After what looked like an internal struggle over abandoning her super-suspicious Dan’s Diner coffee, she got up to follow me. Oh, great-- not a loner, a lonely barnacle. “Where are you going? Do your parents know you’re doing this?”

I ignored her and kept walking. For someone navigating a swathe of branches and leaves in some tippy-looking heels, she did a pretty good job keeping up with me and my combat boots.

Passing by the fountain, a watery giggle made me pause.  “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

Taking a closer look at the fountain, I nearly did a double take (and the strange woman shrieked) at an enormous crocodile relaxing inside. Some brave soul had given it a nametag reading “ORVILLE”.

The alarming reptile wasn’t the only unsettling figure in the fountain. Out of the corner of my eye, I was almost sure I saw a feminine grin-- from a predator that felt much more dangerous and elusive than Orville.

Billie being a nuisance

The day started with Billie being a nuisance, as usual. “Get up, get up! The storm faeries are playing outside!” Her blonde halo of hair shimmered, ethereal, as she pranced over to the window. The grimy glass gave everything a brown tinge, and it refused to do its job in keeping the cold, wet and vile outside from getting in. The way Billie’s eyes went glazed over and dreamy, I could tell that whatever she saw, it wasn’t through those panes.

I flopped over in bed, groaning. “Sure, Billie. Now shoo.” Billie could amuse herself.

“Leylah, Sybil, get in here,” Mom shouted from the main room. My insufferable little sister floated through the door, while I trudged half-asleep towards the coffee. As I passed, Mom pulled me aside. “You know better than to encourage her.” Her voice was low, but my stomach dropped with a dread I didn’t want to think too much about. Thinking is bad; it brings up things better left in the past.

Another day at my no-name middle school passed in a haze of boredom.  One might think they would let us out, what with the rain and winds battering the building into cold, dank misery, but no. Whatever. Whether or not they lump me in with the rest of my infuriating, directionless generation, it doesn’t matter. I’m going to figure out what happened, especially if none of them take me seriously-- there’s nothing quite as useful as being constantly underestimated.

As soon as they released me, I went over to my usual haunts, keeping my ears open for any mention of Bel. It’d been months since Mom gave up on her, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to. It was several fruitless hours, and I was about ready to head home, when the lights flickered off.

I immediately tensed. In this part of town, a power outage can bring out the dangerous types, wondering what they can get away with in the darkness. I fumbled for my phone, and impatiently sat through four rings before Mom picked up, groggy and slurring.

My alarm grew, but I kept my voice firm. Passed out drunk was never a good sign. “Are you and Billie at the apartment?”

“What time is it? Is Sybil getting home soon?”

“It’s past seven, Mom!” I hung up on her alarmed cursing. I knew she’d chew me out about it later, but right then I needed to think, and act, quickly.

I ran out of the building, search patterns that I’d read about police using flying through my head.  Before I’d even rounded two corners, I spotted a familiar slash of blonde. Billie’s arms were outstretched, and her lips were moving. She was completely drenched.  I don’t know how she heard my splashing footfalls over the roaring storm, but she grinned up at me, gesturing at a patch of air.

“Look! I followed the faeries, Leylah. They’re so much fun to play with. They want to play with you, too.”