To The Unbetween

It was a beautiful day, bright and sunny, with not a cloud in the sky.  The worst type of day for a funeral. Mike trudged home from the funeral early, feeling slightly guilty that she had left her friend Sam there by himself. Well, not by himself, but the two had come together, and they didn’t really know the other people attending very well, so he was probably feeling very much alone right now.  She sighed to herself, walking up to her apartment and unlocking the door. It was dark, too dark to see, and she reached for the lightswitch, flipping it on before setting her keys on the kitchen counter. Mike turned around to go and sit in her favorite cushy plaid chair, but found it already occupied. By her good friend Steven, who wearing a suit and top hat resting on his pale blond hair and had a gaping black hole where his left eye once was. What was the problem with this? Well, nothing, other than the fact that Mike had just gotten back from his funeral. “Nope,” Mike said loudly to herself, walking backwards into her kitchen again before turning and opening her liquor cabinet, all the while chanting to herself, “nope, nope, nope, nope, nope." _______________________________________________________________________________________________________ Steve blinked. He didn’t know quite what he had expected her to do upon seeing him - he was dead, afterall - but he certainly didn’t expect this reaction. “Uh, Mike?” he called out to her, a bit unsure of her mental well being. Oh lord, he hadn’t made her insane, had he? She turned to him, eyes bloodshot, her bright red hair - short and spiky, just like her - is mussed, and he watched her slam a bottle of vodka on the counter, sloshing over the sides a bit from the force. “You can’t be here,” she said, and her voice was hoarse from downing large amounts of alcohol. “You died, you’re dead!” Steve stood up and walked - floated? - over to her, placing his hands on her shoulders gently. Mike starred up into his face, glaring a bit at what she believed to be her own imagination, and then he shook her. “I… What the hell!” she screeched, slapping his hands away. “What is wrong with you?” Her glare deepened. He grinned at her. “You’re not going crazy, Michelle,” he grinned even wider when her eyes narrow at the use of her first name, “I really am here. I’m a ghost, but I’m here. After all, would a figment of your imagination be able to do that?” Slowly, Mike reached her hand up to touch his face, and they both smiled at one another, and Mike’s eyes were shining like stars with her unshed tears. She slapped Steve hard across the face, and he touched his cheek gingerly in shock. “What the hell did you do that for?” he shouted at her, but he wasn’t really surprised. This was Mike, the girl who threatened to beat people within an inch of their lives if she was displeased. A slap was her being nice. The tears leaked a bit, but her face remained stoic. “You freaking asshole. You died on us, you left me and Sam alone!” She pounded her fist softly on the front of his suit. He chuckled sadly. “Yeah, well, I didn’t really have a choice, now did I? After all, it’s not like I asked to be murdered.” Mike stiffened, and he realized that he’d said the wrong thing. “Um, actually, that’s why I’m back. I need your help. Your’s and Sam’s.” Her face was impassive, so he kept talking. A silent Mike was just as scary as a screaming Mike. “Y’see, I sort of got into this thing that I shouldn’t have, and I messed with the wrong people and now…” He spread his arms wide, indicating his ghostly-ness. Mike stared at him silently for a moment before she nodded. “Wait a sec, let me get changed and we’ll head over to Sam’s.” She motioned to the lacy, gothic black dress she was was wearing, and Steve blinked because, oh crap, that’s a funeral dress. He looked at her guiltily, but her back was turned, she was already walking to her room to change. She turned back to face him before she disappeared into her bedroom. “Ah, don’t do any ghosty disappearing, okay?” Her face showed fear for the first time since she saw him. He smiled, a sincere one this time, and nodded, and she nodded back before ducking into the other room. How long do girls take to get dressed? The thought crossed his mind for what seemed like the hundredth time before Mike finally came back. She was dressed in dark jeans with holes in them and a purple tank top that he thought he might have given her last Christmas. “Let’s go,” she said bluntly, walking briskly out the front door, and he couldn’t help but to wonder what he had done to deserve such an awesome friend, one that would drop everything at a moments notice to help him solve a murder. “Oh, by the way, why are you wearing a suit?” Steve laughed. “I’m missing my eye, and you’re questioning the suit?” She chuckled and walked to the car. He followed her, floating out the front door, and awkwardly floating about an inch above the seat as Mike drove them to Sam’s house. “He might not be home,” she said, after a long and slightly uncomfortable five minutes of silence, “I left the funeral early.” He raised an eyebrow at her, giving her a look. “I’m offended, Mike. You didn’t want to see them put me in the ground?” His joke fell flat. Very flat. He earned another slapped cheek as punishment. He pouted the entire rest of the drive. “We’re here,” Mike said, flicking his ear, which Steve rubbed, giving his friend a hurt look, which she pointedly ignored. In her mind, her abuse was punishment for him dying. No one ever quite understood the mind of Mike. She knocked on Sam’s front door, and, to her surprise and relief, he was home. “Mike, are you okay?” He asked her immediately, not noticing his friend floating next to her. “You left early and…” Now he had noticed the ghost. Mike smiled weakly. “Yeah, so Steve was murdered, and we’re going to help him find the killers. You in?” Sam blinked, staring at Steve. “Dude, you’re a ghost?” Steve nodded. “I understand that it’s strange and a little unsettling, but..” His friend laughed loudly, “Nah, man, s’okay. Just do your ghost stuff. S’cool.” The short red head squinted at him. “Sam… are you drunk?” she questioned him. He shrugged. “Meh, a little. Funerals are depressing as hell. So, do you wanna-” He was cut off by a flash of light, and then pitch blackness. Light returned to the world, but they were not in the same place they had been before. “-get something to eat before we go?” Sam finished his sentence, then looked around him. “Aw, hell.” They were not in Kansas anymore. Metaphorically speaking. They lived in Portland. The place in which they now were was very much like a cave, with long, long stalagmites and stalactites everywhere, and tunnels dotting every few feet. But it was not quite like other caves. For one thing, it was yellow. Neon yellow. “Boo,” a loud, echoey voice whispered into Mike’s ear. She jumped about a foot in the air, and spun around to catch sight of whomever had startled her. The three friends stared in awe at a giant ...man… thing. He was huge, and his skin was a dark red color, like blood. He had a dark goatee upon his angular face, and ram’s horns twisted around his head. “I heard you were looking for a murderer,” The man stated. Mike swallowed a lump in her throat. “Steve, what kind of s**t have you gotten us into?” she whispered hoarsely.