I just hoped he didn’t decide to ditch me before I found the way out. I wasn’t sure what I would do if forced to roam these dark hallways alone again.
We had only walked a mile or so when I felt something brush lightly against my face. I swatted it away only to have something else linger for just a second on my neck like an exhalation of breath. My immediate fear was that we were trapped in a room with insects. I could almost imagine the gossamer kiss of wings against my skin or the slight hairy touch of antennae. The thought gave me chills, and I would have given anything at that moment for a light. Instead, all I had was the residual glow of the numerals and symbols on the walls.
Without warning, a torch burst into flames at the end of a long passageway, flooding the room with illumination. What the flames revealed, however, was not what I expected.
“A greenhouse?” Flowers of every imaginable color grew underfoot like a carpet woven from rainbows. Hanging vines draped down from the ceiling, adorning the hall with blooms and greenery. Plant species that were alien to me grew in six foot stalks, climbed the walls and intertwined with drooping ivy.
Every available square inch of this place was covered in lush, thick plant life. The air was redolent with the fragrances of a hundred different varieties of flower. I inhaled deeply and found that, despite the pain in my ribs, the familiar aroma of honeysuckle, jasmine, and hyacinth had a calming effect on me.
The peaceful feeling lasted until I took a step forward and felt something slice into my ankle. I cried out. Midnight moved toward me in response and was cut as well.
Without taking another step, I knelt carefully and touched the yellow petal of a daisy and yelped in surprise as the flower nicked my finger and drew blood.
“Don’t move a muscle.”
Midnight did as he was told. I touched another flower and then another, being careful not to run my finger along the foliage. They weren’t pliable like normal plants, but rigid and sharp. It was like I was trapped in a field full of razor blades.
I tried to lift my leg without brushing up against any of the other potentially lethal flowers, but it was impossible to do. All I got for my efforts were several more lacerations on my ankles that bled more copiously than I expected. In fact, there wasn’t a single way I could move a muscle without touching the leaves of these razor-plants and hurting myself.
“What kind of test is this?” I wondered if Asterion could hear me. “You put me in a hallway filled with razor-blade flowers and want to see how I’ll get out without cutting myself to shreds? Is that it?”
I didn’t really expect the minotaur to be nearby, but he answered me.
“You don’t feel any real pain yet for the things you’ve done. You still haven’t learned that there are consequences. That’s what this room is for. You hurt your wife, and now you’re going to endure some of her pain. ”
“I never did anything to physically harm her!”
“Then you’re getting off lightly. Flesh and blood injuries can be treated, but there isn’t a medicine on the market designed to treat a broken heart.”
“I didn’t do anything! What am I going to have to do to prove it to you?”
“You’re still lying to yourself too, it seems,” Asterion said. “But you’ll eventually realize the value in truth.”
“So what happens if I fail this test?”
“You die,” Asterion spoke as if that should have been plainly obvious. “And I expect you’ll die painfully.”
“And if I do happen to escape?”
“Let’s not get carried away. You beat Cerberus, true enough, but this test will be much, much harder. Cerberus was an obstacle. This is a situation.”
“Care to shed any light on this---situation?”
“Sometimes the most beautiful things are the things that will harm us the most.”
“Anything else, Confucius?”
“These are your trials and tribulations. Not mine.”
And with that he left.
Chapter 19
The damage in the kitchen was extensive. In one fell swoop, Darrell Gene had destroyed what took him hours of work to complete. Both armies lay in disarray, little more than kindling for the fireplace now. Darrell Gene regretted what he’d done and wondered if he hadn’t been a little bit hasty.
It wasn’t so much what the wingless angel had said to him as is it was the possibility that the angel might have been telling the truth.
He’d been afraid of seeing the rebels win the war, but maybe in his life, that’s what they were destined to do. For a moment, he’d held on to the possibility of fitting in, of finding a group of people that loved him. But the longer he thought about it, the longer he realized that wasn’t likely. He could carve saints out of birch wood from now until the end of time, and they would never be strong enough to defeat the dismal feelings in his soul. They would never be strong enough to overcome the darkness.
In some subconscious part of his mind, Darrell Gene knew he was likening the outcome of his life to a board game. Somehow it seemed fitting. The desires of the flesh and that small seed representing the purpose of God that had never germinated in his heart were the two warring ideologies in his soul. Like angels and demons, they were at odds and would always be at odds until he chose a side and shifted the balance.
Tears rolled down Darrell Gene’s cheeks. “Who am I really?”
Darrell Gene didn’t need a response from anyone to know the answer. He had done some truly terrible things. He was a monster, and the Burroughs family was right to be frightened of him. No need in pretending otherwise. He didn’t want to be another Carl Beckett, roaming the streets of town with a smile on his face and a mouthful of lies.
Above the sink in his bathroom was a mirror. Darrell Gene stood there for several minutes looking at himself, seeing for the first time what other people must see. He wasn’t tall or thin, but short and heavyset. His hair was a greasy black, and the wet look wasn’t something he did intentionally. A thin, pubescent moustache clung precipitously to his upper lip, and his cheeks were marked by acne scars. Most days, he wore jeans, some sort of rock and roll T-shirt, and a ragged, sleeveless denim jacket. He didn’t even bother trying to hide the tattoos.
The artwork was a Technicolor testament to the skeletal. A malevolent looking skull with wings marked one forearm while a Grim Reaper with a wicked looking scythe stood watch on the other. His flabby biceps were wrapped in prison-inked barbed wire, and his elbows were done up in spider webs. A heavily-scaled serpent with eyes like rubies spiraled up his left arm, going from his wrist to the bend of his elbow and further up where it ended just below the barbed wire. The right arm was decorated with multi-colored stars which provided a sinister background for the Reaper to do his worst.
He hated what he saw. Maybe it was because he knew the evil that lived in his heart, and that made everything else so much worse. Or maybe he just had his doubts that someone like him would ever be able to fit in to normal society.
He felt like a monster, and the monsters would have no trouble accepting him. The regular folks were a different story. He could never see himself being a part of the church-going crowd. They were too vanilla, and he was as far from vanilla as you could get.
“Stop denying what you are.” The Reaper spoke from its place on Darrell Gene’s arm. “Stop being ashamed.”
“You’re one of us,” the winged skull tattoo whispered.
“You can’t change a leopard’s spots---or a snake’s scales,” the serpent hissed.
Darrell Gene shook his head violently. To listen to them would be to accept that all hope for him was gone. Of course, deep down, that’s what he believed anyway.
Humanity wasn’t where he belonged. His place was with the monsters.
“We won’t try to change you,” the Reaper insisted. “Just be yourself.”
“How can I ever really be myself?” Darrell Gene asked.
This time it was the winged skull’s turn to speak. “Sometimes, you have
to look beneath the surface, dig deep underneath all that humanity. That’s where you’ll find the real you.”
Darrell Gene nodded.
“We’re not talking symbolically,” the Reaper explained. “There’s a very real, very angry monster lurking just beneath your skin. Take off that disguise you’ve been wearing all these years and see for yourself. Stop trying to deny what you are.”
“Take out your knife,” the serpent hissed.
Darrell Gene chose his master in that moment and opened the blade of his pocket knife. It was the blade he’d used to carve the wingless angel. It was the same knife he was going to use to carve out his own life.
“There’s more beneath the surface than anybody knows,” he muttered to himself.
Before he could rethink his decision, Darrell Gene made an incision at the wrist and cut all the way around. Then pulling at his hand as if to take off a glove, he removed the skin. He wasn’t at all surprised to see a thick, slimy layer of black scales underneath. The tattoos were right.
He was a monster and this was all the proof he needed.
Now all he had to do was keep acting like one…
Darrell Gene suspected that the wingless angel would have been proud of him.
Chapter 20
Careful not to make any more sudden movements, I surveyed my situation. It wasn’t good. Lush, tropical plants with leaves the size of axe blades came up to my waist and bordered me on both sides while tulips, daisies, and roses with stiletto-sized thorns occupied the space next to my feet and lower legs. I couldn’t help noticing that the thorns were coated with a thick, viscous substance that I had to assume was poison. There were also hanging vines to contend with which formed a sort of living net that shrouded the hallway. It was roughly a hundred or so feet to the next door.
Running through this tangle of plants would be like running through strand after strand of barbed wire. Each leaf was a razor, each vine was a garrote, and each stalk was an unconcealed bear trap.
I didn’t know what to do. I was frozen into place. I couldn’t have been any more isolated if I had been trapped in amber or encased in ice.
“Think Jamie, think.” Everything in this maze was a metaphor of sorts. Everything had a double-meaning. Asterion talked in riddles like he was some sort of caveman version of Yoda, and it was up to me to figure out what he meant.
“Sometimes the most beautiful things are the things that will harm us the most.” Obviously Asterion was referring to Karen, but was there something else behind the statement, some other hidden truth? How could I get out of this hallway alive without spilling my guts onto the floor?
“Think!” I grew more and more frustrated.
I tried to remember the hours and days leading up to my incarceration in this place and the things I had done. The mistakes I had made then would be reflection enough of the kind of man I was. Maybe that was what Asterion wanted me to do.
…I remembered the way my heart raced when I first saw Karen in that restaurant.
…I remembered the way some of the old feelings had clawed their way up out of graveyard dirt like a bunch of zombies.
…I remembered asking the age old question ‘What if?’
..Sometimes the most beautiful things are the things that will harm us the most.
The foliage in this room was a direct representation of that fact.
“How do you escape an inescapable situation?” I asked myself. Prayer? A miracle from God?
I had prayed sporadically while down here in this labyrinth, trying to convince myself that I wanted to turn back to God. But was anything I had said or done sincere? Or was I just looking for a way out? People frequently turn to God in tough times. Look at how crowded the churches were right after 9/11. Did that mean that all of them had a true desire to dedicate themselves to the calling of God? No, it just meant they were scared. Like I was now.
Midnight barked as if trying to tell me something. I wasn’t listening.
He barked again, and this time I gave him my full attention. The dog stared at me quizzically. The look seemed to ask the question, 'Don’t you remember what you were doing when I showed up on the scene?’
And I did remember.
I was praying. Frantically. Asterion was on the other side of the door, ramming the walls with enough force to knock jars off the wall, and I asked God for help.
God answered my prayer, and He did it in the form of this dog.
“You’re a reply from God.” I felt a wave of understanding. You’re proof that He’s here with me in this place, aren’t you?”
Midnight barked again and panted.
“Do you know how to get past this?”
Midnight shook his head from side to side as if trying to dislodge a thought from his brain.
“Maybe I should pray again? It worked last time.”
The flowers cut me in so many places as I knelt down to pray. I welcomed the pain because it reminded me of what I’d done, of my intended sin. It reminded me of the lust in my heart that was there even now. It reminded me of the kind of dangers that lurked around every corner, sometimes disguised as something as innocuous as a flower.
As I closed my eyes and asked for help, I experienced a very different kind of hurt. This time the pain didn’t come in the form of a heartache or in a pill of guilt. I knew this pain would be much different than the other I had experienced. I needed to see cause and effect. I needed to see very real consequences for the things I had done.
I pulled the worn note out of my pocket, searching for instructions on how to get through this test. The message had changed again.
“The man who wants proof that he‘s still alive needs only to suffer.”
Even without thinking too deeply on this mystery, I knew what the clue meant. Thus far I hadn’t truly seen any consequences for the things I had done. I had hurt others but not been hurt in return. This place was created to remedy that. The flowers in this hallway were beautiful, stunning, and filled with color. They were pleasing to the eye, yet deadly. It was all a deception, just like my infatuation with Karen. The moment I laid eyes on her again, I was taken aback by how gorgeous she still was after all these years. Yet, I didn’t take the time to realize that enjoying her beauty would be dangerous to me in so many ways. I realized it now.
I wasn’t going to make it out of this place without suffering. The note all but told me that. This was a classroom where Karma was the teacher. I was about to get what was coming to me, and I wasn’t looking forward to it in the slightest.
I took a deep breath and steeled myself for what I was about to do. If I was wrong, it would cost me my life. Of course, Asterion had already told me that I was going to die in here anyway. At least this way, I might find absolution through death.
I summoned a thought of Amy and Peter, and I held onto it in much the same way that a drowning man clings to a life preserver. I thought about all of the good memories we had made, all of the love we had shared; and I realized that I had single-handedly wagered everything we had on a selfish carnal curiosity. I had rolled the dice and lost it all, and now other people were paying for my mistake.
I wondered what Peter must be thinking, if he missed me at all. The thought of what I might have done to my son was enough to make me want to hurt. I deserved it.
I screamed as I ran through the foliage. Razor-leaves sliced me in a thousand different places, cutting my face, my arms, my legs, my feet. There wasn’t an inch of me that wasn’t bleeding or crying out in agony.
The pain made me feel alive. I had been numb for a very long time.
Miraculously I made it to the end of the hallway and collapsed in a bloody heap. I waited for something to happen, for Asterion to tell me that I’d failed this test, but the world around me shimmered in and out of focus like the view in a distorted mirror.
My life leaked out of me in a hundred different places, puddling on the floor beneath me. The déjà vu was so strong. I flashed back to the way I’d felt after gettin
g shot in the head at close range by that man with the Angel Face. I remembered seeing this maze reflected in the pool of blood, and now as I glanced into this new puddle of scarlet, I was able to see the world I’d left behind.
I caught a glimpse of Amy sitting on her mother’s couch, sobbing uncontrollably. Judith had her arms around her daughter, trying to comfort her. Peter stood there, watching them both, confused, not understanding why his mother was crying so much, wondering where I was.
“Da Da.”
His call for me prompted a fresh bout of tears from Amy. Frightened and realizing that something was very wrong, my son began to cry with his mother and grandmother. A tear slipped from my eye too, but I was too hurt to wipe it away. Given all I had done to cause this pain, I didn’t deserve any reprieve. I deserved to hurt like they were hurting.
The sight of their lives falling apart was the last thing I remembered before an unbelievably heavy weight pulled my eyelids closed, blacking out the world.
Chapter 21
Peter had spent the past hour crying and saying ’Da Da’ over and over again. It was obvious that he missed Jamie. Amy did too, for that matter. She hadn’t heard from Jamie since she told him not to come home. That was two days ago.
She wanted to believe that Jamie hadn’t betrayed her, but the evidence against him was overwhelming. It was also just a little bit too convenient. Someone was out to get her husband. She had no doubt about that. She just didn’t know why.
Her mother, thankfully, had been there throughout this whole mess to put things in perspective. Judith touched Amy lightly to remind her that she was there.
“Jamie’s a good man,” Judith reminded her. “I believe that. And until I see a picture of the two of them beneath the sheets, I’m going to assume he’s innocent.”
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