The Maze - The Lost Labyrinth Part 2

I trudged up the stairs to the second floor, wondering what I would do or say once I arrived at the door. The rational, logical part of me knew the best thing was to turn around right away, get in my car, and drive back home. I didn't want to do that.

Did I really want to go through with this? There was still time to turn back. Did I really want to knock on that door?

I thought about it for a moment and realized that I did want to be here. I drove here with a defined purpose-my mind was made up.

Your wife never has to know.

Something else made me hesitate before knocking, something I hadn't considered on the way over here. It wasn't some random pa.s.serby I needed to worry about seeing me here. Someone very specific was out to get me. They had gone to the trouble of leaving Amy a note in an attempt to prove that I was being unfaithful. I still wasn't sure of the motive, but I was sure that I was being watched. Maybe they were watching me now.

I looked around frantically; a dog's bark made me jump. I then heard a steady clicking sound that made me stiffen in fear. I knew that noise all too well. Although Peter was only two, I had taken hundreds if not thousands of photographs of him, and I was all too familiar with the sound that a camera makes with each new exposure. I turned toward the sound and saw him. A figure wearing an angel mask stood at the end of the walkway, snapping picture after picture of me. The figure waved at me playfully, and then turned to flee.

I ran after him like my life depended on it. I needed to catch him and ruin the photographs before he had a chance to send them to Amy and seal my fate. I didn't want someone else writing my future for me, and Angel Face was doing his best to a.s.sert some level of control over my life. It angered me, and made me chase him with every bit of energy I had. I was in good shape, and Angel Face was portly and slow. Yet, what he lacked in speed and agility, he more than made up for in cleverness. I was just about to turn the corner at the end of the walkway and head down the stairs in pursuit when I realized he had been waiting for me the entire time. The moment I turned the corner and noticed him standing there was the moment I saw the gun in his hand.

I tried to retreat, but I was too close. I heard an explosion and felt something like a sledgehammer rip into the side of my head. I remember hitting the concrete, thinking that this wasn't the way I was supposed to die, and trying to say one last prayer to ask for forgiveness. I felt blood pooling around my face, spilling my life out in hot, crimson bursts.

My arms and legs went numb, and one lonely tear traced its way down my cheek until it dripped into the sticky blood. I waited to see a tunnel filled with light like so many people reported when on the verge of death. Then, I remembered where I was and what I had been about to do, and I wasn't sure that I could expect that sort of scenario. A place with wailing and gnas.h.i.+ng of teeth might have been more suited to me.

At first I wasn't sure what I was hearing. It was almost like a ringing in my head, but the noise wasn't internal. It sounded like hammers banging away. I heard the chuffing of machinery. I heard laughter and whispers. I heard a door open, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw something reflected in my own blood that frightened me almost as much as the prospect of death. Like something from a dream, I saw a maze, wavering in and out of focus on the surface of the scarlet puddle.

One moment I was there at Karen's apartment, gunshot and dying. The next I was lost inside that dreadful labyrinth with no idea what to do.

Chapter 8.

The walls pulsed with indigo light, calling to mind icy winter, bleak barren landscapes, and a frigid chill that invaded the bones. The walls were smooth like newly blown gla.s.s, but I couldn't see my reflection in them. I ran my fingers over the slick, polished surface and noticed a strange series of glyphs, letters, numbers, and pictograms that lit up beneath my touch. It was like looking at a s.p.a.ce-age version of the Egyptian pyramids or something designed by aliens. Karen's apartment was nowhere to be found; if it was there, it was buried underneath a neon cryptogram.

I studied my surroundings for a moment, confused as to how I'd gotten here. I'd heard of people entering fugue states before and making trips through town that they didn't remember. but this was different. For starters, this place looked nothing like the town where I lived-or any town for that matter.

For a moment, I wondered if I had been abducted by extraterrestrials, but I realized that I wasn't on a s.h.i.+p of any kind. Or if I was on a s.h.i.+p, it didn't seem to be moving. I didn't really think that was the case anyway. This felt more like a structure of some sort than a craft capable of movement. And since I had never heard of anyone being taken to an alien city or an intergalactic prison outside of pulpy sci-fi novels, I disregarded that explanation. Besides, I didn't believe in aliens.

Then, I remembered the photographer...and the gun. I raised my hand to my temple and expected to touch blood, but there was no wound. How was that possible? I distinctly remembered the life leaking out of me and the light fading from my eyes. There was no way I had healed so quickly. Was I dead? If so, that left only two options.

Was this h.e.l.l? I didn't know, but I didn't really think so. It was an odd place for sure, yet I wasn't miserable. I knew that h.e.l.l was a place of agony and torment. This wasn't that sort of place. It certainly wasn't Heaven either because I was far from happy. Which left what? Purgatory? Like aliens, I didn't believe in Purgatory. So where was I? And how had I gone from a gunshot wound in the head to this dark labyrinth?

I ran my fingers along the smooth surface of the wall to prove to myself that it was real. I was surprised: the temperature had dropped about twenty degrees since the last time I touched it. The wall felt like it was covered in solid ice. I s.h.i.+vered and hugged myself for warmth.

Everything about this place felt strange and foreign, but there were familiarities which made it all the more confusing. I studied the characters that were embedded in the walls, and watched the way they pulsed with light. I saw one shaped like a star and gently pressed it with my index finger.

Gears began to grind behind the walls, chains creaked under pressure, and the room began to revolve. The movements of the room weren't p.r.o.nounced enough that I had trouble keeping my balance or feared for my own safety. It was more like riding an escalator or an elevator, only in a circular motion rather than up and down.

Gradually the room completed half a revolution, and the gears locked into place with a cold, iron clank. Convinced that whatever I had set into motion was complete, I decided to try another symbol. This time I chose a trapezoid.

The end result of my experimentation wasn't as noticeable as before. Somewhere in the darkness, I heard doors opening and closing. I also heard what I thought were walls s.h.i.+fting and sliding into place, but I couldn't be sure of much because it was hard to see anything.

This certainly wasn't Karen's apartment.

But if I wasn't at Karen's apartment, dreaming, dead, or on some extraterrestrial s.p.a.cecraft, then where was I? In my college days, I had done a little experimenting with the usual drugs, and nothing I had ever experienced compared to this.

I took a step forward and was confused to see several layers of sand beneath my feet. Gla.s.s bottles with messages in them were scattered around me like a series of chain letters written by castaways. Looking down, I saw that I had unknowingly kicked one of the bottles over.

"This is too weird." I thought that I had somehow gotten myself stuck inside the artwork of Salvador Dali. Looking for answers, I knelt down to pick up the bottle and read the note inside.

"h.e.l.lo Jamie. Welcome to the maze. Sorry to interrupt your 'visit' with Karen, but it was necessary to arrange this little gauntlet as you'll soon see. We sincerely hope you enjoy your stay here, but doubt you will. You will face all sorts of problems here. That is the purpose of your visit. It's up to you to figure out what to do about them."

I frowned and read the message again, wondering if this was someone's idea of a joke. No one, not even Karen herself, had known that I was going to show up at her doorstep. I thought for a moment about the photographer wearing the angel mask. He obviously knew my destination. But how? I was confused about all that, but didn't really think he had anything to do with this maze. However, I couldn't be sure of anything. Maybe Angel Face kidnapped me after shooting me in the head. I had no idea why he might have wanted to do such a thing. Then again, I wasn't sure why he was so intent on destroying my marriage either. Was he also responsible for the message in the bottle? Maybe the photographer was working with someone else. I wondered if the person who had written this note was responsible for the message that was delivered to Amy.

It made me furious to think that I was a p.a.w.n in someone's twisted little game. Someone was toying with me, and I didn't like that one little bit. I was the type of guy who liked to face trouble head on. My adversary, whoever that might be, seemed to be made of a different sort of cloth.

I grabbed another bottle and read what was written on the sc.r.a.p of paper inside.

"Hansel and Gretel used breadcrumbs to mark their path. What will you use?"

"Hansel and Gretel?"

It had been many, many years since I had read fairy tales, and I hoped that a detailed working knowledge of The Brothers' Grimm wasn't a prerequisite to survival here.

I crossed my fingers that things would become clearer if I read more of the notes and picked up another bottle. I pulled the cork and fished out the sc.r.a.p of paper. The words were written on a very old sheet of yellowed parchment.

"Use this note as a guide and keep it with you at all times. The doorway to this labyrinth is opened with sinful intent, and you walked in brazenly. You will find the exit at one turn or another---or not at all. The walls will show you the way if you're smart enough to figure them out. A word of caution: beware the minotaur. He feasts on transgression."

The note was signed 'The Architect.'

I read the short message a couple of times, pondering its meaning. Like the note about Hansel and Gretel, it seemed to be a riddle of some sort. I had never been any good at riddles. Although I considered myself to be fairly well educated in a variety of subjects, I couldn't decipher any meaning in the messages.

My mind screamed at me in denial, but everything around me was real. I wasn't going to wake up and realize that it was all just a game created in my mind. I broke one of the bottles and p.r.i.c.ked my finger with a sliver of gla.s.s to prove that point. The cut bled, and the pain was as real as any I'd ever felt.

A host of scenarios played in my head, and none of them had happy endings. I imagined that I had been kidnapped by terrorists and thrown into this prison. I thought about movies I had seen in the past and wondered if this was all part of a psychopath's sick game.

I didn't have any enemies that I knew about. There were a few people I'd rubbed the wrong way over the years, but not to this extreme. Besides, this seemed a little elaborate for something as mundane as a grudge.

Having eliminated all of the possibilities I could conceive of, I trembled with fear of the unknown.

"Get hold of yourself!" I shook my head to clear the cobwebs. "There has to be a simple explanation for all of this."

I blinked my eyes in rapid succession and wasn't surprised to see that nothing changed. The walls were still scintillating, and I was still standing there, bathed in a blue glow.

"Beam me up, Scotty." I tried to lighten my own mood with levity. If anyone or anything heard me, they didn't respond.

I unrolled the small sc.r.a.p of parchment again and read it a second time, thinking that it must have some answers.

"The doorway to this labyrinth is opened with sinful intent."

The last thing I remember before arriving here was bleeding out only a few feet from Karen's door. Was this maze a punishment for the sin I had planned to commit? Or was this a schism in my psyche, a break from reality that could only be repaired through intense psychotherapy and psychotropic medications? The wall beneath my hand certainly felt real enough. Of course every successful lunatic has managed to convince himself that his delusions are real. That's why they're delusions.

The thought didn't make me feel any better. Neither did recalling the reason why I had gone to Karen's apartment in the first place. Although I didn't want to admit it, I hadn't tried very hard to resist the trappings of the flesh. I had gone to Karen's hoping to rekindle an old flame. Amy had accused me of cheating, and despite all my protestations, I had decided to prove her right. That decision led me here, but where was here? And what sorts of things did I face because of that one indiscretion?

"The walls will show you the way."

Each word seemed to echo and ricochet as I read them. I could almost imagine the sounds flying past my head like ill-fired bullets, but the acoustics weren't the most fascinating feature. The codes hidden in the walls were more intriguing. According to the note, deciphering their meanings would be the key to getting out of this---whatever this was.

The symbols, I deduced, had the ability to s.h.i.+ft and recreate the structure of this place. Walls could be moved and doors could be opened with a simple touch. The only trick would be figuring out which symbols controlled what and then using that knowledge to navigate my way out of here.

Somehow, I knew the task sounded much easier than it really was.

"A word of caution: beware the minotaur. He feasts on transgression."

Obviously the minotaur was some sort of code word or a symbol that stood for something else. I had no idea what it could represent.

Before settling on a business major in college, I had contemplated a major in English. I knew the story of the Minotaur from Greek mythology and how it had haunted the labyrinth on the island of Crete, feasting on the bones of men. Thinking of such a creature as mythological made it seem less and less plausible. Thinking logically, however, did very little to chase away the chill that raced up my spine, causing the hairs on my neck and forearms to stand at attention.

I was scared, and I knew I had every reason to be. I was trapped in a strange place with no clue how I had gotten here and no clue how to get out. Even without the notion of a minotaur, there was enough to make me edgy. The mention of a minotaur was probably little more than a scare tactic, designed to keep me jumping at shadows.

It worked beautifully.

Still, I kept trying to convince myself that there was no such thing. The world was host to a variety of strange creatures, but there wasn't a single one among them that had the head of a bull attached to the body of a man.

I had to rethink that a.s.sessment when I heard something bellow nearby. It didn't sound human. My grandfather had owned a dairy farm, and the ruckus I heard now was like an amped up version of the noises his cows made when in distress. There was even a certain earthen smell to the air that made me think of wet gra.s.sland and moldy hay. I figured something was about to happen; I quickly pocketed the note and listened more intently. The noises pervaded; this time they were louder and filled with even more misery than before.

If there was an actual minotaur and he feasted on transgression, I knew that my life would probably look like a veritable buffet to him. I couldn't help being a little on edge.

I thought about praying and asking for deliverance, but in the end I decided against it. If I was here, trapped in this maze because of sin, it seemed unlikely that my prayers would be heard if I wasn't sincerely sorry for what I had done.

I hadn't reached that point yet, but there was still plenty of time.

Part II: A Maze of Disgrace.

Chapter 9.

Whatever was bellowing showed no signs of ceasing. It sounded like something was in a tremendous amount of pain and was broadcasting its misery for everyone to hear. If there was a minotaur loose in this maze, then there was no question where the lamentations were coming from.

I stood there, bathed in blue light, wondering what to do and how to react, but everything felt foreign. I didn't know which way to go, which way to run. All I knew was that I was in trouble. The bellowing grew louder by the second; the minotaur or whatever was getting close.

The walls will show you the way.

I studied the faintly glowing hallway, looking for some pattern, some familiar sequence of numbers and symbols that made sense. I ran my fingers over the smooth surfaces, hoping for revelation, praying for deliverance. The wall in front of me was covered in various shapes, Roman numerals, words written in languages I didn't understand, drawings that ranged from the crudely rendered to the expertly crafted, symbols that could have been musical notations or mathematical representations, and a hundred other forms of written expression that could have meant anything or nothing at all. It was almost as if the maze had been populated with idiot savants who had written down every iota of their narrowed down expertise, and I was expected to sort through it all in a matter of seconds and find meaning where none seemed to exist.

"Think, Jamie. Think."

No amount of thinking could make sense out of the nonsensical. No obvious patterns were present in the mishmash of symbols and numbers; it was like looking at one long computer print-out of garbled programming.

There was still some part of me at this point that didn't truly believe in the reality of my surroundings. I kept expecting to wake up at any moment and realize that I had fallen asleep on the couch---or in a hospital bed hooked up to life support. A blast of air that stank of decomposing hay and rotten flesh, however, quickly made me reconsider the whole notion of dreams. I wrinkled my nose and listened to the clap-clap-clap of hooves. Something was still coming toward me.

Something big.

For a split second all I could think about was getting ripped apart by some ancient monstrosity before I could figure a way out of this place, before I could make amends with Amy and hug Peter tightly one last time. I couldn't bear the thought of dying this way, in such a sad state of circ.u.mstances. This was what my life had been reduced to, and I didn't want it to end like this.

I didn't want to die as Jamie Burroughs, the man who had almost cheated on his wife with an old girlfriend. If death was in the cards for me, I wanted to die as Jamie Burroughs, loving husband and father. It would make for a much better epitaph.

I'd heard it said before that there were no true deathbed atheists, and the wisdom in that statement was more apparent now than it had ever been. I wasn't an atheist. Despite all my shortcomings, I believed in G.o.d, but now, faced with the unbelievable, I regretted not living a more devout life. There wasn't time, however, to make amends for that mistake.

The smack of hooves on cobblestones was louder now. The deafening cadence of approaching steps echoed off of the walls, the ceiling, and the floor like ricocheting bullets. Something was coming, and I was very afraid.

'Please G.o.d," I said. "Please. I don't want to die this way."

The minotaur was coming. The pastoral stench of a bull preceded the creature, announcing its presence as effectively as a trumpet blast.

"Help me, G.o.d."

It was only as I wallowed in self-pity and stared blankly at the walls that a certain string of numbers stood out from the millions of other digits: 04071976. My birthday. Of course, that particular series was surely coincidental and had nothing to do with me. Still, it was the only thing I could make any kind of sense out of. I traced the numbers with my index finger and was surprised to hear a sonorous humming coming from behind the wall. It was like being stuck in the middle of a great machine that was running at full-throttle. The maze rattled so much that I felt my teeth chattering, and I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, fully expecting something horrible to happen. Then the vibrations stopped. Slowly, I opened my eyes and saw a doorway where one hadn't been before.

From the opposite direction came a long, mournful, inhuman lament. I needed to move quickly. The minotaur was almost upon me; and if the note was correct, he was hungry for transgression.

I stepped through the doorway, hoping I was doing the right thing. A panel abruptly slid shut, sealing off the pa.s.sageway behind me.

I stood there for a moment, waiting for my heart to stop racing. My s.h.i.+rt was stuck to me with a thin glue of perspiration, and I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand. I exhaled loudly and took a deep breath, enjoying the cool air in my lungs. Gradually, my trip hammering pulse slowed to a moderate gallop and then a trot. I wasn't as nervous now as before. That probably had something to do with the fact that I was going to live, if only for a little while longer.

I was dismayed, however, to find myself in another room that had no doors or windows.

This room was nothing like the previous room. For starters, the walls were a different color, emerald this time instead of cyan. The numbers, symbols, and pictures were still there, but they weren't the focus. The grand dining table spread out before me was the focal point. Each place setting was an intricate mixture of Italian china, highly polished silverware, ornately embroidered napkins, scented candles, and a fancy covered serving platter. It was the kind of setup that demanded appetizers and c.o.c.ktails and multiple courses, followed by desserts so elaborate that the average person couldn't spell them.

I felt even more out of place here than I had before.

It was like the dining hall of a four-star restaurant had been dropped into the middle of a nightmare. I didn't know whether to be comforted by the sight of something familiar or horrified at how alien everything else seemed in comparison.

A fortune cookie sat in the center of the table, looking as out of place against the opulent backdrop as I did. I knew it was meant for me. I wasted no time cracking the cookie open and pulling out the thin slip of paper within.

I didn't know whether to expect a string of lucky numbers, words of wisdom from Confucius, or my horoscope. As it turned out, it was none of those.

"The light of the body is the eye: therefore when thine eye is single, the whole body also is full of light; but when thine eye is evil, thy body also is full of darkness."

I knew it was a verse of scripture but I didn't readily understand how it figured into the prison-like workings of the maze. Hesitantly, I lifted the lid on one of the serving platters and was a little confused to see a Polaroid of me watching something on television. I saw enough nude flesh on the TV screen to know what kind of program I was watching. I didn't remember the specific day the picture had been taken nor did I recognize anything in the foreground to denote what made this photograph special. Had Angel Face taken this picture as well? How long had this surveillance of my life been going on?

Still confused, I moved onto the next platter and lifted that lid. There was another Polaroid, this time featuring me and James Ketchum, a client of mine. I didn't have to know the circ.u.mstances of that meeting to know what was on my mind. It was apparent by the deviant s.h.i.+ne in my eyes that I was dreaming of a big commission. I was greedy, and the picture was proof enough. The man in the photograph scarcely even looked like me, and I wasn't at all happy with the way I was being portrayed. I remembered over-inflating the sales quote I gave James and padding his portfolio with products that he didn't really need. He had trusted me, and I had known it, had taken advantage of it.

The next platter had a third Polaroid. This picture was taken today at Adam's Ribs. It was a photo of me staring up at Karen as she was touching my arm. There was no mistaking the intent in my eyes.