The Maze The Lost Labyrinth - By Jason Brannon Page 0,58

symphony of pain and misery, which had once showed so much promise, was now coming unraveled. Darrell Gene Rankin didn’t feel the same things he had felt only days before. There was a small, feeble ray of hope there, probing the man’s insides like a spelunker’s flashlight. From prior experience, The Piper knew that was a bad indicator of things to come. Despite that, all was not lost. Yet.

The song in Darrell Gene Rankin’s heart was different now. He spun around in circles, not sure which way to go. Watching him flounder around down there was like watching a deaf man stand on a set of thrumming railroad tracks, oblivious as to which direction he should go to avoid safety and danger. Was the man really that clueless? Was he really that naive?

The Piper decided that the conservatory he had spent so many days in lately wasn’t the proper place to advance his mission of pain and misery. He had played his pipes up on the promontory and watched as fish beached themselves in hopes of escaping the sounds he made. He had sent his minions to sing suggestions, to whisper subtle hints, to make Darrell Gene Rankin question his own sanity. And all of those things had worked to a degree. What The Piper hadn’t counted on was Carl Beckett and his ilk praying for Darrell Gene and preaching the message of salvation to him.

The Piper knew it was time to pick Darrell Gene Rankin up again, tune him miserably, and squeeze out every last sweet note of pain and abandonment. He couldn’t do that from the conservatory: this required a more hands-on approach.

The Piper could have spread his majestic cyan-plumed wings and swooped down into the city of Fairpointe. But his spirit wasn’t soaring, and he didn’t feel that his body should rebel against the spirit. After all, he knew the troubles of rebellion.

Navigating the rocks with cloven hooves was difficult. Stones shifted beneath his weight. Others rolled right out from beneath him. The Piper was determined to see this through however, and worked his way down the cliff face slowly until he reached the bottom where a nearby highway waited to lead him into town.

Now, intent on living up to his name, The Piper placed that well-worn set of pipes to his cancerous lips and began to play. Minions poured out of the rocks like rats spilling out of a barn full of grain. They fell in behind him as he led the way into Fairpointe.

********

“Where is my husband?” Amy pressed the paintball gun into the back of the big man’s head, hoping to threaten him into an answer and to keep him from seeing that her gun wasn’t a real threat.

Darrell Gene started to reply and stopped, cocking his head to the side as if listening for something. “No, I can’t do that.”

“Who are you talking to?” Amy asked.

“The machines in your house sound different than they do in mine. They speak with different voices. I‘m not used to the way they talk to me.”

Amy shot Judith a concerned look.

“We need to call the police,” Judith said. “No questions.”

“Not yet,” Amy said. “Not until he tells us where Jamie is.”

Darrell Gene leaned his head forward again, straining to hear something no one else could hear. “No, I’m not going to tell them he’s dead. You and I both know he isn’t.”

Amy stiffened. “What do you mean dead? Is Jamie hurt? Answer me!”

She smacked Darrell Gene in the back of the head with the butt of the paintball gun. When he turned, his eyes were dark and full of menace. He didn’t look apologetic anymore. He looked dangerous. “Your husband isn’t dead.” He smiled. “Not yet anyway.”

Amy’s face was a mixture of grief and anger. She was too enraged to cry and too upset to really get her bluff in with Darrell Gene. Judith grabbed the paintball gun out of Amy’s hands and rammed the barrel into the side of Darrell Gene’s face.

“What did you do to him?”

Darrell Gene smiled and let his eyes roll back in his head until only the whites showed. That look would have gone perfectly with a straitjacket and a syringe full of antipsychotic medication. “I shot him. That’s all.”

The declaration was Amy’s cue to go into hysterics. She collapsed and wept, saying “no, no, no,” over and over again.

“Where is he?” Judith asked. “What did you do with him?”

“He’s safe,” Darrell Gene said. “And he isn’t dead.”

“But you just said you