Unfinished Business

CHAPTER 5: MAYBE I SHOULD STOP GOING TO PUNKIN'S

I stood at the base of the pyramid once again, staring up at the place where I died. I was past the boundary of the yellow tape the police or the CSIs or whatever initial responders there were set up. The tape was at knee level. It couldn't stop me from looking up at the place where I died. 

Something compelled me forward. It was something I couldn't ignore. Without thinking about it, I began to climb the pyramid once again. This time, I was propelled by something much less than a bloodthirsty monster. It was determination; it was curiosity; it was pure fucking anger; it was a compulsion I couldn't deny. I rationalized it by telling myself that it was the best vantage point around here, but I knew that was a weak excuse. 

Once I was at the top, I stood on the place where I bled out, staring at the world around me. This was the altar of my sacrifice; this was my pyre. I put my fists on my hips and took stock of everything around me. 

Behind me and slightly to the left was the bathroom; in front of me and to the right was the fence and the woods beyond it. From where I stood, I could see a pink smudge (probably a jacket or a discarded hoodie) in one of the halls of the sprawling, seemingly-infinite corn maze. The paths were beaten down by hundreds of feet that pounded their way through the labyrinth, turning it green-gray under their thunderous, frantic steps. 

Oh, I could see everything from here. It was a shame I couldn't just get to it. 

"It's bullshit that I can't fly," I griped. It would have made everything a lot easier. 

"You know you can do that, right?" 

I yelped, shocked; something touched my shoulder and I lost my footing and tumbled down the pyramid. It was like it was a set of stairs. I fell head over heels over head, then slammed my head on the ground. It rang like my brain was an apple bobbing in a gray metal basin of lukewarm water. I was on my back, too. God, could this be any more embarrassing? 

I looked up at the top of the pyramid. There, at the top, was a figure backlit by the sun. There was a moment where I felt real, actual fear. 

And then I realized, oh, wait, oh shit! That was Blanche! I barely knew her and, yet, here she was. 

She blew a bubble from thick pink gum, snapped it, and drew it back into her mouth. Amid loud chomps, she said, "Hey, dummy. Quit acting like a breather. You're not one of them. You're, like, so much better than that." 

"I'm sorry, a what?" I propped myself up with one elbow and shielded my eyes from the sun's incessant, omnipresent, omniscient glare. 

"A breather? You know, like a living person? You're literally so much better than that!" 

In three quick steps, she bounded down the seven layers of hay, then plopped down on one like it was a park bench. She did it all with a weird sense of undead feminine grace I knew I could never master. 

I didn't know how I was supposed to not act like a living human person, or why she seemed to hate them. Even so, I rolled my eyes, finished sitting up, folded my legs criss-cross applesauce, and rested my elbows on my knees. "What are you doing here?" 

"I'm from here," she laughed. Blanche tossed her hair over her shoulder. It glittered in the sunlight. "What are you doing here?" 

"I'm from here." 

"Oh, really? Wow. I guess it really is a small world!" 

Blanche finally took a look at her surroundings. Recognition dawned in her eyes when she saw me and the crime scene tape I had almost fallen into, and the way that my shirt had fallen up a little and I hadn't bothered to fix it because I didn't want to think about it.