The Maze - The Lost Labyrinth Part 14

"Shut up!"

I placed both hands over my ears to block out everything. I couldn't think no matter how hard I tried. The riddle didn't make any sense. My brain wasn't focused on it anyway. I was too wrapped up in the consequences of failure to focus on the prospect of success.

"You've got fifteen seconds." The serpent hummed the theme song to an old game show.

I screamed in frustration and grabbed the apple off of the tree. I hurled it as far as I could and was satisfied to hear it shatter into a million pieces.

"Time's up." The serpent ended the game. "The answer was free will. Free will is what allows you to choose sssssalvation. Ssssalvation, in turn, is what saves you from eternal death. All men are born with a choice, and you chose poorly."

"So what happens now?"

"Only Darrell Gene Rankin knows for sure. I'm sure if you watch the forbidden fruit long enough, you'll see what he has in store."

Chapter 28.

As any composer can attest, sometimes the chord progressions don't work, don't feel right. The music is cold, flat, lifeless. And music, as everyone knows, is all about feeling.

The Piper watched the proceedings on Pinecrest Avenue with increasing disappointment. His 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 s.h.i.+fted 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, c.o.c.king 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 b.u.t.t 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 shot him."

"I shot him, but I didn't kill him. There's a difference."

"Why?" Amy looked up at him from the floor with tear-stained eyes.

"The angels told me to. I can hear them, you know?"

"I'm going to call the police now." Judith reached into her pocket for her cell phone.

Darrell Gene seemed to genuinely focus on her for the first time and a fleeting look of recognition pa.s.sed over his features. "They've stopped talking to me for a minute. I can think better now."

Judith kept her eyes on Darrell Gene. She had the phone open with one hand and used the other to train the gun on him.

"I've been hearing voices. They've been telling me to do things, and I've been listening. I haven't been myself. Or maybe I have. I don't really know anymore"

Judith cast a cautious glance in Amy's direction. They hadn't antic.i.p.ated this. Although neither of them had said it aloud, both of them had been expecting to find out that the culprit was a bored teenage kid or a lonely woman who had her sights on Jamie. Darrell Gene Rankin was one of the last people either of them would have suspected. And now, on top of everything else, it seemed that he was seriously disturbed.

"Where is Jamie?" Judith asked. "Where are you keeping him?"

Darrell Gene stopped to think for a moment. "I'm not sure. I don't remember what happened to him after I shot him."

"Where did you shoot him?" Amy asked.

"At her apartment," Darrell Gene took great joy in Amy's expression. Her face crumbled, and her lower lip quivered.

"You're lying! How can we believe anything you say?"

"You don't have to believe me," he said. "But that doesn't mean I'm lying about it all either."

"How long have the voices been talking to you?" Judith tried to dial 911.

"The phone won't work unless The Piper wants it to," he explained. "He and the others speak to me through all of the gadgets. Somehow, I don't think the police figure into his plan. But feel free to try."

Judith hissed as the phone showed No Service. "It won't call out."

"Told you." Darrell Gene was pleased that he'd been right.

"I thought you were sorry for what you did," Amy said. "Now you don't seem the least bit remorseful."

Darrell Gene considered what she had said and placed both hands over his ears to stop the whispering machines from telling him how to feel. "I am sorry. I don't want to be this way. But I can't control it."

"How long have they been talking to you?"

"A long time. Only they've been speaking a lot more frequently lately."

Judith was just about to ask another question when she heard a knock at the door. She and Amy exchanged nervous glances. "Who could that be?"

"Check it out," Judith said. "I'll keep the gun on him."

Amy found enough strength to get to her feet and approach the door. Her hand shook as she reached for the k.n.o.b. "Who is it?"

"Amy, it's Carl. I found a note in my mailbox. It told me you needed some help. What's going on?"

Amy gasped and opened the door. She had never been so glad to see Carl Beckett in her entire life. Darrell Gene seemed relieved to see the mild-mannered deacon too.

"Carl."

"Darrell Gene." Carl tried hard not to respond to the sight of Judith dressed in camouflage and aiming a paintball gun. "What is all this?"

"I did a very bad thing," Darrell Gene said. "I shot Jamie."

Carl hesitated for a moment. "Oh, my! Is he ok? We need to call the police!"

He rushed over to the phone on the wall and tapped the b.u.t.tons several times before realizing that there was no dial tone. His cell phone got no signal, just like Judith's.

"Why aren't the phones working?"

Judith shrugged. "Darrell Gene says that someone called The Piper uses electronics to speak to him. He seems to think that The Piper doesn't want the police to be involved."

Carl looked at her as if she were speaking Arabic. "You can't be serious."

"I didn't say that he was right about this. I just told you what he said."

Carl turned to Darrell Gene. "Darrell Gene, where is Jamie? I'll go and get him."

"I don't remember where he is."

An idea popped into Carl's head. "Why don't you ask the voices if they know where he is?"

"I don't want to talk to them. They won't leave me alone. It's been worse since you started visiting me."

Darrell Gene's words were flavored with a mixture of despair and sorrow. There was an added note of pleading there that Carl hadn't heard in either of their two visits.

"I felt so bad about everything." Darrell Gene's lower lip trembled with guilt. "I listened to the voices in the beginning and they told me to leave the note and send the picture. Now they're telling me to hurt you. To hurt all of you."

Pictures of the Burroughs family at various stages in their life were scattered all around the living room. One showed Jamie and Amy getting married. Another showed them on their honeymoon, standing in front of one of the Mayan temples. Amy was pregnant in one of the photos. She held Peter in another.

Darrell Gene wasn't used to this kind of family-friendly atmosphere, but it would have been tolerable if not for the taunting. With so many demonstrations of happiness scattered around the room like graffiti, it almost seemed like the family was flaunting their happiness in his face. And even that he could have dealt with if all of that if all of the pictures hadn't talked to him simultaneously. The voices sounded like a hundred flies buzzing in his ears.

"We're better than you!" Jamie mocked him from the wedding photo.

"You're nothing but a waste of breath!" Amy added from her maternity bed.

"We wish you'd move away and never come back!" They spoke in unison as they waved to the camera from the inside of a Ferris Wheel car.

Peter spoke from his crib. "We don't need anyone like you in this neighborhood!"

It was all too much for Darrell Gene to take.

Carl said something about the Lord, but Darrell Gene didn't hear it. He was too busy pulling the knife out of his boot that he had used to carve up so many rebel angels.

"I wish everyone would just shut up!"

Darrell Gene caught Judith by surprise and wrenched the paintball gun out of her hand. He threw it against the wall and gave them a long, hard look at his blade.

"Darrell Gene!" Carl stood up in dismay.

"I wouldn't advise doing anything rash." Darrell Gene showed the deacon his knife and the devious gleam in his eyes. "Your soul may be saved, but your body is still very susceptible to pain."

Carl nodded slowly, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. "Dear G.o.d," he murmured.

"Pray all you want," Darrell Gene said. "Nothing's going to save you or these two nice ladies now."

"Are you going to kill us like you killed Jamie?" Amy asked.

Darrell Gene ran his finger along the blade, drawing a thin pinp.r.i.c.k of blood. "I'm not sure yet. But whatever I do, you won't like it. Carl, be a good man and rip that phone line out of the wall. Use it to tie up G.I. Jane."

Carl stood there a second longer than Darrell Gene was happy with. Before anyone could react, he had the knife pressed against Amy's throat. She whimpered but wisely didn't struggle.

"Be a lamb, Carl, and do what I told you to. You're a Christian. You should be used to playing that role by now."

Carl nodded slowly and grabbed one end of the phone line. With a forceful tug, he pulled it up from the baseboard and used it to wrap Judith's hands and feet.

"Looks like you've done this a time or two before," Darrell Gene said with a smile. "Maybe you've got a few skeletons in that closet of yours after all."