The Maze - the Lost Labyrinth (4 page)

“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 shift 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 assessment 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 grassland 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 circumstances. 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 God, 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 God,” 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, God.”

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 passageway behind me.

I stood there for a moment, waiting for my heart to stop racing. My shirt 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 cocktails 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 circumstances of that meeting to know what was on my mind. It was apparent by the deviant shine 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.

With trembling hands, I lifted the lid to the last serving tray and was surprised to find a blank Polaroid. It was the way a picture looked as it went through the developing process, only this
was a
permanent condition.

I wondered what kind of picture had been taken here. What had I been doing that was so horrible that even the film itself rejected it? I ran my fingers over the picture and for a split second saw the brief flash of an image: my family in happy unity. All of us were smiling and content. I held Peter in one hand and hugged Amy tightly to me with the other. We were a family there, a perfect model of strength and stability. That life now seemed a million miles away.

That picture didn’t exist. The reason why was explained succinctly enough in the other three pictures. I sank to my knees; it felt like someone had stabbed me between the ribs with a rusty knife. That fleeting image had shown me a glimpse of the life I had been so displeased with, the life I would have given anything to have back. Strange how priorities twist and turn.

As was the case with the previous room, I guessed there had to be some sort of mechanism or trigger that would open another door and possibly lead me out of here. Where was it located and how did I operate it? I studied everything-the symbols on the walls, the letters, the pictures, the layout of the place settings-and searched for a pattern.

I touched symbols and mysterious glyphs at random, hoping for a miracle. Machinery behind the walls chuffed and rumbled. Pistons sighed as they released steam. Gears in need of oil squeaked loudly, but no door appeared.

Frustrated, I touched another group of symbols. Immediately a series of razor-tipped darts rushed past my face, missing me by inches. I inspected the opposite wall and noticed that the darts had been fired from a recess in the rock. No doubt, I had triggered some sort of mechanism with my aimless groping. It was a mistake I couldn’t afford to make twice.

I paced back and forth, studying the dining table and its contents and wondered how I could use any of what I’d learned from the Polaroids to help me escape. After wracking my brain uselessly for nearly a half-hour, I collapsed into one of the dining room chairs, exhausted and confused. It was only as I let my mind wander and unfocus for a second that I was struck by a certain incongruous fact. Initially, I had thought that this maze was some sort of prison designed to punish me for my sinful intent. But, this room seemed to be focused more on alerting me to the fact that there were very specific areas in my life that were broken. That hardly seemed like a punishment. If this trap was the byproduct of a demon architect’s imagination, there was no way such a creature would go to the trouble to point out those weaknesses in me that needed fixing. On the other hand, if this was a labyrinth of angelic design, there would be no mention of a minotaur that delights in transgression.

I wasn’t sure what to think about the kinds of forces controlling my destiny. At the moment, it didn’t matter. Whether angels or demons were responsible, the fact remained that I was still trapped. Knowing the whys and wherefores wouldn’t magically make a door appear.