The Maze The Lost Labyrinth - By Jason Brannon Page 0,51
like looking at a bug trapped in amber, preserved for thousands of years.
Although his expression was the same one he’d died with, it seemed to accuse me. His eyes followed me wherever I went. I would have done anything to get away from that accusatory stare, but there was no place to hide.
I tried to move to another part of the frozen hallway, but I was frozen to the floor. My entire left foot was covered in frost, and the frost was spreading. I panicked and tried to yank my foot away. It was no use. I was stuck, and the ice wormed its way up my leg, making me cold at first and then numb.
“What’s happening to me?” I hoped the maze could hear me.
Connie answered. “Once we grow cold, it doesn’t take long for the feeling to go away.”
I knew what this meant. This was complacency freezing me into place. I didn’t want to be numb to the evils that were going on around me. I wanted to feel, to be acutely aware. I didn’t want to be oblivious.
“How does any of this match the story of the crucified thief?” My voice quivered as the ice spread to encase both of my legs.
“There were two thieves crucified with Christ,” Connie said. “Your heart dictated which of these thieves would represent this place.”
Both of my hands froze together, fusing as if encased in cement. I had clasped them together in preparation for prayer.
“This isn’t Paradise, is it? But I want it to be.”
“Do you? The ice suggests otherwise.”
My teeth chattered with each new word. I could feel the ice moving up my chest toward my throat. It wouldn’t be long before even my words were preserved by sub-zero temperatures. “I want to be saved from all of this. I know I’ve sinned, and I would do anything to make that sin disappear. But I can’t.”
“You can.”
I wasn’t able to respond. My entire body was frozen solid, like a hunk of meat thrown into a blast freezer. I couldn’t feel my arms, my legs, my face or even the heart inside my chest. It had stopped beating as it iced over. I hadn’t felt much more than this at Karen’s doorstep. There was not one bit of remorse or hesitation. I was so cold that I couldn’t believe Amy hadn’t frozen to death in the past few weeks. I was frustrated that I didn’t feel anything. One of my tear ducts was covered in hardened sleet and a fine crystalline frost. The other one managed a single tear that slid down my face. The effect of that grief was instantaneous.
The ice melted slowly at first and then faster as the weight of my guilt increased. I had been raised to repent, but like so many other aspects of my life, I had disregarded the teachings of my childhood. My heart might as well have been packed in ice for all of the feeling it used to have. It was warm and beating now; I could feel it.
Icicles crashed to the ground, shattering like delicate glass. The frost on the walls warmed and trickled down to the floor, sluicing away some of my guilt. The frozen bars separating me from the light narrowed and eventually disappeared; an internal heat reduced them to little more than puddles that carved tunnels into the ice beneath my feet. The thief simply faded away into nothingness.
Soon, all the ice was gone and the light was closer now than I had ever seen it. After wiping the tears from my eyes, I walked through the door where the ice had been, and a question sprang to mind.
“Connie, where’s Midnight?”
“You mean the dog? He’s here someplace. You just don’t need him anymore.”
“Where did he come from?”
“Where do you think he came from?”
“Prayer?”
“Although you didn’t know it, at the time you were praying for deliverance, Amy was praying for you too. So was Judith. Your wife wants to forgive you.”
“So why can’t I go to them?”
“You aren’t ready yet. You’re getting there though.”
“Are you The Architect? Someone by that name was mentioned in one of the notes I read.”
Connie laughed. This time it wasn’t the laugh of a little girl but the husky chuckle of a woman. “No, I’m not The Architect. But you know who it is.”
“I don’t.”
“Think about it. This labyrinth was constructed based on the blueprint of your life.”
“So I’m The Architect?”
“It makes sense, doesn‘t it?”
That revelation brought up a very distinct possibility that filled