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.