He cleared his throat. “Where’s Rachel?”
“She’s at home.”
“At home?” He dropped the last bite of bagel. Why am I still here? “Is she safe?”
“Of course.”
“How do I know?”
“I am honest with you, Grey Grimm. Perhaps you can do the same.”
She knew his name. Of course she knew his name. He was at the gate a few weeks ago; they’d called his dad.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“What do I want?” Her cherub smile flattened out. “You have trespassed upon this property twice. You recklessly brought your friend across the water, where you both would have died. This is all fact, Grey. It is truth. It is not what I want that is the question. What do you want?”
It wasn’t clear what she was asking. The question was simple, but it was multilayered. What did she really want to hear? A thrill of hope sprang inside him, a hopeful twist that all his dreams would come true. You’ve passed the test. Welcome to the Maze!
“You know why I’m here,” he said.
Her smile found him amusing. She approached with soft steps. She reached out, delicate fingers trickling down his cheek. He pulled away.
“You were drowning before we found you, Grey Grimm.”
The sun rested just above the horizon. Her complexion glowed. She poked his ribs and he winced. A hot flash filled his head. He instinctively moved closer to the waterfall wall. Adrenaline drove his heart into passing gear. Cool air drifted from the trickling wall, a humid breath on his neck. He swallowed hard, working up enough courage to leap.
“You’re the Maze,” he said.
She didn’t react. Anger, agitation, or impatience could be hiding beneath her smile, but he saw no sign of them. She stepped back and looked toward the lake and the rising sun. A ripple of tension rode across her shoulders.
“And what do you know about the Maze?”
“Everybody knows about it.”
“What do you know about it, Grey Grimm?”
He had the major competitions memorized, had seen the most gruesome deathmatches, knew the names of all the repeat victors. Even watched most of the lesser known games, the ones not promoted but equally gruesome. But that wasn’t what she was asking.
What do you know?
He told her about the invitation on the refrigerator, the weekends his dad drove out there, the way he tracked him, the money he was spending, the scuba gear he was using. All the while, she listened with her back to him.
Her hips swayed in the white dress. The sharp outline of her body, the indention of her belly button, the snug gap between her thighs rigged him in place. The water wall wet the hair on the back of his head.
She leaned into him.
“How do you know?” she whispered.
“I’m sorry?”
“Your name,” she said distantly. “The day, the time. When you wake in the morning, how do you know who you are?”
She turned her head, searching. The conversation had taken a hairpin turn and he sailed through the guardrail. She lingered, sweetly. The early morning kissed her cheeks, her shoulders. She hugged herself.
“What you see, hear, taste and smell. What you feel. Your senses are the windows to reality. You flipped your boat last night; you plunged into cold water. You clung to the edge, the feeling deserting your fingers, your toes. Your ears were ringing. Your reality was very different than it is now.”
She gestured to the window. “Do you trust your senses?”
The memories of the past twelve hours were coming together like foamy trash clinging in the river’s current. There was some semblance of the events—launching the boat, the cliff, the spill—but the memories had gone through a blender and poured back into his head.
His throbbing head.
“Where’s Rach?”
“She beat you to it, Grey Grimm. She dropped into the Maze an hour ago. You’re late.”
“What?”
His hand slipped down the waterfall wall. He staggered a step. The woman caught him before he crashed. He shook her off; the robe pulled off his shoulder, bunching around his arms. He slid away from her until the glass wall was at his back.
I never should’ve brought her.
She began laughing, hiding behind her hand, red nails fluttering across her cheek. Grey pushed into the corner, where the glass met the opposite waterfall wall. The back of his robe grew heavy with water.
“Grey, stop,” she said.
He felt himself sliding to the floor, water draining beneath him, pooling between his thighs.
“Shh-shh-shh.” She squatted near him, gently stroking his bare foot. “She’s not in the Maze, Grey Grimm. Your girlfriend is safe. She’s at home and perfectly fine. As if none of this happened, she’s asleep in her bed.”
“What?”
“I was teasing you. But that is what you think, correct? That there is a Maze in this house?”
“My mom knows where I went. She’ll come after me.”
“Of course your mother will. She loves you. We would expect her to do so, but you’re not in any danger, Grey Grimm. We saved you from drowning. We’re not keeping you here. You are free to go.”
“Why am I still here?”
“I apologize for the starkness of my teasing, but life can be uncomfortable, can it not? When you seek adventure, you risk falling. You may be hurt. There are things out of your control, the laws of physics, gravity. The lake cares not if you are young or innocent, whether your friend is involved. It will drown you. There are prices you pay for living. Fair or not, they are paid in full.”
She gently pulled him away from the waterfall and lifted him on his feet. Her strength was surprising. She slid the robe from his shoulders. It bunched in a puddle around his feet. The reflection of a teenage boy looked back from the glass, a boy in boxers with long hair and a sickly yellow patch of a future bruise over his ribs. He coyly folded his arms.
The woman returned with another robe, this one dry and warm.
“I like you, Grey Grimm.” She wrapped the robe around him. “You’re smart, funny. Fearless.”
He watched her fuss with the collar, cinching the fuzzy belt around his waist. How could she know anything about me?
“There are people that love you,” she said. “There are those that don’t. There is great advantage to having both of these people in your life. Disadvantages, as well. Sometimes, it’s not simple to know which is which.”
She brushed the hair from his forehead. He jerked back, her touch gentle but his head tender—the result of kissing the lake, full throttle. There was no memory of hitting the water, only the turbulent aftermath.
The price paid in full.
“Understanding is your freedom, Grey Grimm. The hunt is the destination. Know where you are, where you are going. And knowing why. Only the willing truly live. Do you understand?”
He shook his head. Even frowning sent aching waves through his brain. This conversation was speeding ahead of him.
“Life has you now,” she said. “We cannot intercede again. You drown next time, Grey Grimm, so go home. There is nothing here for you. Return to life; understand your risks. Only the willing can do so.”
She tightened the collar around his neck, rose up on her toes and kissed his cheek. A sensual shiver warmed his face, soothing his aches.
“I wish you luck.”
He listened to her bare feet. She closed the door quietly and left him alone with the rising sun and the peaceful water. He wondered what the hell just happened, what was she talking about? Why did it seem like she had been expecting him?
And why did she wish me luck?
THE DRIVER WAITED FOR Grey to get out.
He hadn’t made a sound the entire trip, even when asked a question. Vomit streaked the car’s rear quarter panel. Grey had hung out the window to unload his stomach, a sad dog with knotting hair and a sour taste. Maybe the driver was pissed about that.
Grey checked
his phone.
Service had returned shortly after leaving the country. He texted Rach six times. Called twice. It was too early for her, but her phone was never far from her reach.
“She’s already home.” It was the only time the driver spoke, waiting with the door open. He said he’d driven her home the night before. “She’s fine. She’s safe.”
That didn’t help.
Grey’s apartment building was shrouded in fog. Humidity clung in microscopic drops. The lobby was empty and musty. Grey leaned against the elevator door. The vibrations stirred the headache to life, his brain throwing stones around his skull.
Seasickness swung him like a limp towel.
He didn’t know her name, but he wouldn’t forget her face or the way the dress clung to her. She’d told him not to come back, in so many words. And wished him luck.
What did she really mean?
He opened the apartment door, threw his keys in the little basket and listened for his mom. It was Sunday morning. Sometimes she got home early when they were ahead of schedule.
He downed four aspirin.
His memories were making more sense. Taking the boat across the lake at night? There were few moments in his life that were more stupid. Shoving wires into an outlet came close.
We should be dead.
They’d saved them. They didn’t have to come for them, pull them out of the water. They didn’t have to dress him, let him sleep it off in some waterfall room. But they wouldn’t do it again. Life has you now? What the hell does that mean? Would they watch from the cliff if we dump the boat a second time?
Only the willing live.
His mother threw the front door open with a bag of groceries and dragged the weight of a third shift behind her. She tossed him a weak smile.
“You’re up.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” he said. “You’re home early.”
“Some repairs and an early shift change.” She put milk and orange juice in the fridge. “I asked you to clean the dishes last night.”
“Sorry.” He started unloading the dishwasher.
His mother hovered over the toaster, watching the coils turn orange. Wispy threads of smoke wafted out. She ate the toast dry while blinking slowly. Her eyelids moved like lead.
“What happened?”
He froze in place. Had her question had a flatter tone, he would’ve confessed on the spot. Instead, she reached for his chin, frowning.
“Oh, nothing. I slipped in the bathroom and hit the sink.”
“You cut it on the sink?”
“Yeah, it’s nothing.”
“What’s the stuff?” She stroked the medical glue.
“Rach had it. She stopped over last night, had it in her purse along with a hammer and a crossbow. She has everything, you know how it is. How was work?”
“It’s over.”
She continued chewing. That was a lot of lies to untangle. Nothing momentous and she didn’t have the energy for them.
“Talk to your dad?” she asked. “Why aren’t you doing weekends with him?”
“He doesn’t want me to.”
“Why?”
“Does he need a reason?”
She wiped her mouth. “When’s the last time you talked to him?”
“I don’t know, a week?” he lied again. It had been a month.
“So he’s alive?”
“Does it matter?”
“To you, it should.”
“Yeah, well.”
She said the right thing because it was her duty. If his dad died yesterday, it wouldn’t bring her any tears. Grey, either. Then again, he hadn’t been around many dead people. His grandparents had passed before he was born. Death was a foreigner. He didn’t know how he’d answer when it came knocking.
Maybe he’d sob like a toddler.
“I’m going to take a shower.” She tapped his chin. He tried not to wince.
A TEXT ARRIVED AT NOON. What’s your problem, creep?
When did you get home? Grey texted back.
Last night. You?
This morning.
Ooo. Party boy, not rude boy.
He erased several messages before sending a reply. How much should he say through the phone? His heart was suddenly jacked on speed, his fingers tense.
They brought me home, he finally sent.
They?
You sore?
A little. She paused before adding, Headache.
Grey followed the four aspirin he’d downed when getting home with two more and then another two. The ache was spreading like a stain. At least it wasn’t throbbing anymore.
Meet for coffee? he wrote. So we can talk about last night.
I’m in trouble for the boat.
How were they going to explain the boat at the bottom of the lake? Unless the rescuers dragged it out with them. But the trailer was back at the ramp. So was her car.
How’d you get home? he texted.
I drove, ding-dong. How high were you?
Your car is home?
Are you trippin?
She was safe. She sounded normal. Too normal. They just about sank to the bottom of the lake, the chill still in his bones. They were holding hands while clinging to the hull and she was still tired from too much sleep.
Pick me up for coffee, he texted.
I have to fix the dent.
What dent? He quickly typed a follow-up. Wait, you have the boat?
Several minutes passed before she responded. The jokes about getting high had run their course. He was officially on her nerves.
Yes. I have the boat.
Grey paced around his room, trying to piece this nightmare together. It was fairly simple for a while. The people on top of the cliff were good people, normal people. They’d saved them from drowning. Obviously, there was something going on up there, Maze activity or gang-related drugs or something. They weren’t bad people or Grey would be bloated and blue by now. But now the story just went crooked. They saved the boat? he thought.
What did you tell your gpa? he sent.
What happened.
You told him we crossed the lake? he wrote.
What?
He typed slowly, his fingers turning cold. What happened last night, Rach?
There was a long pause. Twice she started writing something. Finally, she sent Seriously, are you trippin?
He started to reply, but she followed up before he could send something. A knot rose in his throat. Grey dropped the phone. His tongue seemed to swell and the room began a slow turn. Do you trust your senses, Grey Grimm? he thought as he looked at it from his bed, not daring to touch the radioactive words.
We didn’t cross the lake, creep, she texted. That would be stupid.
22
The Sessions
FIVE MEN, FIVE WOMEN.
They walked along the narrow hallway, wearing robes of various colors. Their flip-flops snapped. The motley crew of strangers from all over the world had only one thing in common.
They were completely shaved.
Rema had assisted Henk before escorting him to the group. His skin was soft and warm from a shower. She used a laser shaver to remove the hair from his head, arms and legs. It certainly would’ve been pleasurable to have her do the rest, but it wouldn’t have led to any sort of gratifying completion. In the two weeks she’d been coming to his room, he learned his exorbitant fee included everything.
Except sex.
They entered a large room, one that resembled a small warehouse. Pipes and conduit ran in complex patterns along the high ceiling. The smell of nutrient solution took on a vinegary tang, slightly different than the taste of the small tubs. Henk couldn’t gargle the flavor out of his throat, even when he flushed his nostrils with warm salt water. It was like putrid ink that seeped into the skin.
Black curtains hung from cables. There was plenty of room behind them. Men and women joined the group as they entered. They were dressed in simple clothing, each of a solid color. One of them was Rema
.
“Welcome.” A tan young man with short black hair greeted them. “And congratulations on your progress.”
He began clapping and the assistants followed his lead. Henk’s multicultural companions joined in. Henk waved Rema to come over. She pretended not to understand, having eyes only for the young man addressing the group. He spoke with a Spanish accent.
“I hope your assistants have attended your every need?”
Not quite.
Another round of clapping. Some half-bowed. They were all very grateful. Rema ignored Henk’s pleas. He just needed a word.
“Up until today, you have experienced solo awareness leaping into a computer-assisted reality. While it is limited in function, it has allowed many of you to master the basics. Today you will be introduced to the vertical tank and the networked reality.”
The Spaniard clamped his hands behind his back.
“However, you will soon learn there is a certain degree of synergy that occurs when several people leap together and weave an integrated alternate reality. The boundaries between you and me and the illusion that we are separate fall away when you experience this unified reality. We experience something much greater than any one of us can contain.”
“Excuse me.” Henk raised his hand. “I’m not supposed to be here.”
“Of course you are.”
“No, I mean—”
“We’re only demonstrating the process, Dr. Grimm. You are exactly where you need to be.”
Exactly where you need to be... more Zen bullshit.
This asshole knew exactly what he meant. Henk wasn’t ready for vertical tanking. In the days that followed his first disaster, he had regressed. Rema came to his room and lured him into the tub like a frightened dog to water. Each session ended in terror. Every time he went down, the world collapsed. He thrashed out of the tub in horror. Tremors would last for hours. Rema would hold him until they stopped.
“There’s another way,” she had assured him. He didn’t think she was talking about vertical tanks.
“Phillipe will be our leader,” the Spaniard said.
Another man stepped forward, this one a freckled Caucasian. He most likely had bright red hair, but like the rest of them, he had shaved down to his pale skin.
Maze: The Waking of Grey Grimm Page 17
