The Maze The Lost Labyrinth - By Jason Brannon Page 0,7
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 assert 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 gnashing 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 glass, 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 space-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 ship of any kind. Or if I was on a ship, 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.