"Judgmental eyes."

"Hands that work for selfish gain."

I looked around suspiciously, wondering if someone was waiting in the shadows with a sharp knife or a Stryker saw, prepared to fill those jars. Fortunately, he room was empty except for me I knew that if I were to give up all the things that the jars demanded, there would be very little left of me. It didn't speak highly of the person I was. I had been reduced to my flaws, and there were quite a few of them it seemed. I had never realized some of these things about myself before, and it took a dramatic display like this to open my eyes. My sins were engraved and displayed for the world to see, and I couldn't really argue that any of them weren't true.

My heart suddenly felt heavy, and my soul felt cold. Was this the kind of man I truly was?

Although I knew it would hurt more than anything else I had ever done before, I fished one of the amber guilt pills out of my pocket and swallowed it. The effect was instantaneous, and the scenes laid out before me like snippets of film brought tears to my eyes.

"You make my life miserable!" I said this to Amy in a memory taken from a recent argument.

Another scene showed me surrept.i.tiously ogling one of the secretaries at the office when I thought no one was looking. She wore a short skirt, and I wore a leering l.u.s.tful mask.

In a third memory, I watched with disdain and disgust as a homeless man begged for change. I held up my hand to him impatiently and waved him away, wanting nothing to do with him.

The empty jars on the shelf deserved to be filled, but was I willing to make that kind of sacrifice? Was I willing to give up those parts of who I was? I wasn't given the chance to decide.

Without warning, something large and powerful slammed into the door, knocking some of the jars off of the shelves. Clouds of long-settled dust filled the air, making it hard to see. I didn't need to open my eyes to recognize the stench that pervaded the room. The minotaur was nearby. I suddenly thought I had a good idea how all those organs found their way into formaldehyde.

Frantic, I searched the room for any alternative method of escape. Of course, none were immediately obvious. There were no weapons either. I had no options, no ways of defending myself, no way of getting out of this room.

Had I simply been condemned to wander the halls of this maze until the minotaur sniffed out my sins and killed me? Was this the only reason I was here? The maze seemed much too elaborate a setup for something as mundane as murder. However, I wasn't sure if anyone had bothered to tell that to the minotaur.

My options were limited, and my time was short. I consulted the sc.r.a.p of paper from my pocket again, hoping for revelation. Once again, the message had changed.

"The fastest way to get your life together is by falling apart."

I wadded the paper up angrily and shoved it into my pocket. I didn't need any more fortune cookie-styled clues. I needed tangible instructions on what to do and how to get out of this place. I needed to know how to keep the minotaur from killing me in this dreadful maze, and if I didn't figure that out very, very soon, I was going to die.

The walls trembled as the beast rammed the door again, and motes of dust displaced by the impact swirled around my face. I searched the room frantically, knowing there was something I was missing, some clue that would lead me to safety. So far every problem in this labyrinth had a solution if only you knew where to look. The problem was knowing where to focus.

Cracks appeared in the smooth surface of the door as the minotaur hit it again. It howled at me from the other side in rage and frustration. Quite a few of the gla.s.s jars had fallen from their shelves and shattered on the floor. Various body parts lay strewn about in puddles of formaldehyde. I knew if the minotaur gained access to this room, I would become just another pile of human flaws added to the collection.

The cracks in the door spider-webbed with each new blow, spreading outward from the point of impact. It wouldn't be long before the beast got to me. I picked up a broken jar and planned to use it as a weapon. It wasn't much but it was all I had. It was the equivalent of staring down a Sherman tank with a BB gun. This wasn't going to end well.

With my back to the wall that faced the door, I sat there on the cold, hard floor and watched as my hopeless situation grew more and more hopeless. The door was flaking away in bits and pieces. It wasn't wood or metal, and it didn't seem to be rock exactly. The composition meant little, however, because soon the beast was going to gain access to this room, and that would be the end for me.

Over and over again, I watched the jars slide off the shelves and listened to the cacophony of shattering gla.s.s. How many people had it taken to fill this room? How long had it taken to harvest so much transgression?

I watched as sin rained down all around me, and something happened as I watched. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something irregular. The minotaur still did its best to break down the door, but strangely enough, my attention wasn't on that anymore. Maybe I had just accepted my fate and wanted to spend my last few minutes of life focused on something other than my impending death. In any case, I saw a jar filled with a strange, blue substance sitting far back on one of the shelves. There were no discernible body parts inside that I could see; there was only the dark blue goo. I couldn't think of anything in the human anatomy that was such a color, and I got to my feet, intent on seeing what was inside.

The moment I put my hand on the jar and caught a whiff of the heavenly scent of blueberries, I realized what it was. Good ol' fashioned, homemade jelly. The kind you put on biscuits on Sundays before church (and trust me, I knew about church- Mama had me there every Sunday without fail). In an ordinary setting I would have immediately guessed what was in the jar, but this was far from normal.

The jar of jelly seemed out of place here, but I was thankful I'd found it. I drew a certain comfort from the jar, not because of what was in it, but because of the memories it resurrected. This was jelly just like my mother used to make, and there was safety in the thought of her. My mother was a wonderful woman, the kind of woman who could face down a hopeless situation such as this and find some thread of hope woven into the fabric of despair. I wondered what she would have done upon finding herself in a mess like this one.

I heard another chunk of the door fall to the floor behind me, but I didn't bother looking. Instead, I twisted open the lid on the jar and took a huge sniff of what was inside. The scent of sweetened berries made everything just a little easier to bear. Mama started making jellies when the cancer came. It was one of the things she had focused on as a way of getting through it all.

The thought gave me pause.

This wasn't one of Mama's jars of jelly. It couldn't be. Then again, stranger things had happened. Maybe this was where my attentions were supposed to be focused. Maybe this was my clue.

I dipped my finger into the gooey mess and tasted it. It was just like Mama made it.

Mama had been faced with her own hopeless situation and persevered. She beat cancer when the doctors said there was no way. She went from a Stage 4, non-Hodgkin's lymphoma that was aggressive and rapidly eating her from the inside out to cancer-free in less than six months, but never took credit for the healing. She always said prayer was the best medicine, and she took her medicine faithfully, praying morning, noon, and night.

I wasn't sure about my own faith at the moment, but I knew that my mother had believed in the power of G.o.d with every fiber of her being. Not once during her sickness did I ever see her get down or discouraged. Instead, she had always been positive that she was going to be healed. I regretted not being more like her. Hoping to avoid thinking about the beast just outside the door, I focused on her instead of the problem at hand. I remembered the calm a.s.surance she'd had during her chemotherapy. I remembered her testimony about the healing nature of G.o.d. I remembered the absolute lack of fear.

What I needed more than anything else was that same unwavering belief that G.o.d could still work miracles. If my mother had been here with me, her faith was so strong she could have prayed a door into existence. I needed a miracle right now.

I focused on that kind of intense belief and tried to imagine what it must feel like to know that all of Heaven was at your disposal if only you knew how to ask. Mama had known, and there was a lot I could have learned from her.

The heady fragrance of blueberries was like an aerosolized insulation, temporarily shielding me from all of the evils that were being perpetrated around me. For the briefest of moments, I felt calm, safe, even rea.s.sured. Maybe it was just the thought of my mother that did the trick. Or maybe it was the thought of her faith that gave me strength.

"G.o.d, please don't let me die in the bowels of this prison," I sank to my knees. "Deliver me, Lord. Show me the way out."

I shook and shivered with each word, and it was all I could do to kneel down and stay bowed in supplication. I thought of my mother's example and forced myself to talk to G.o.d. It had been years since I had done such a thing. I wasn't sure if He would hear me now after ignoring Him for so long.

The minotaur didn't seem to care about my prayers. He continued attacking the door with a reckless abandon, intent on getting inside. The labyrinth trembled around me as the beast tried to force his way in. Meanwhile, I held fast to the jar of jelly and tried to focus on the memories it represented.

The beast's growling quickly turned to prolonged shrieks of pain as a second voice howled out its fury for all the world to hear. Although I couldn't see what was happening on the other side of that wall, it sounded like two tornadoes had collided and were in the process of destroying everything in their path. Evidently the minotaur wasn't the only inhabitant of the labyrinth. I tried to conjure an image of something equally as horrible, and it was one time I wished my imagination wasn't quite so vivid.

They continued fighting, roaring with anger, attacking each other. I hoped the minotaur was losing the battle, although that meant there was something even more terrible to face. I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

As the battle raged on the other side of the wall, I wondered if my prayer had worked, if G.o.d had actually sent one of His angels to rescue me. Whatever was on the other side of the wall didn't sound like an angel. Then again, I didn't really know what kinds of sounds angels made.

Knowing it was fruitless to speculate, I kept praying instead, just like my mother would have done. Within a minute the clippety-clop of hooves faded as the minotaur fled. I couldn't believe my luck. Then I realized luck had nothing to do with it.

My mother would have been proud, and I resolved to give her a call if and when I ever got out of this place.

The fact that the minotaur was gone lifted my spirits, but I was still trapped inside this room of broken gla.s.s and spilled sins. Slimy hands, wet eyeb.a.l.l.s, salacious tongues, and other severed organs littered the floor. It looked like a dissection lab had blown up, and I had absolutely no idea how to get out. The door was in shambles, but miraculously it still held.

I placed both hands on the broken door and pushed as hard as I could. I was pretty skeptical that my efforts would have any effect since the minotaur hadn't been able to gain access, but the door miraculously slid back on an unseen track. I braced myself, fully expecting to see something with rippling muscles, blood-tainted fangs, and claws still wet from the recent battle. Nothing growled or leapt out of the darkness.

Relieved, I took a deep breath and was about to enter the hallway again when something moved. I jumped back and immediately prepared myself for a battle. My efforts, however, were wasted.

A black Labrador with golden eyes and a cheerful disposition stared at me curiously. I was sure my mind was playing tricks on me or that this was some sort of illusion manufactured by the labyrinth until then the dog jumped on me and licked me. I had never been much of an animal lover, but I welcomed the touch of this creature. Wherever this dog had come from, it was most certainly real. More importantly, it was friendly.

Was it possible this was the creature responsible for the minotaur's retreat?

"What's your name, boy?"

The dog wasn't wearing a tag of any sort. Because the hallway was dark, I pulled him back into the illuminated room and inspected him, wondering if he'd been hurt in the fight. Although the dog showed no obvious signs of injury, I noticed that he was covered in blood.

"Did the minotaur hurt you?"

I combed through his black fur with my hands, expecting him to wince and growl at any minute. The dog surprised me; instead of flinching, he kept nuzzling my hand and licking my face. It was the closest thing to comfort I had felt in a very long time.

After giving the dog the once-over and not finding any outward signs of injury, I came to the conclusion the blood belonged to the minotaur. Evidently this dog was a more formidable adversary than he appeared. As a reward for his help, I sat the jar full of jelly down in front of him and watched as he lapped up the sticky treat with his tongue.

The dog didn't seem in any hurry to leave. Evidently, I had a new friend.

"What should I call you?" I noted that his most striking feature was his black fur. "How about Midnight?"

The dog didn't argue. Instead, he showed his approval of the name I had given him by licking my hand again.

Chapter 12.

I wandered deeper and deeper into the maze with Midnight by my side. Every so often, I stopped to rub him behind the ears or to stroke his fur. I wanted him to know that I was his friend, and to stay with me as I tried to find my way out of this h.e.l.lish place. Thankfully, he didn't seem in any hurry to leave my side.

For a while, we followed the blood trail that the minotaur had left behind. The blood was copious and had already started to coagulate. It looked like Midnight had done quite a number on the creature. It was only after we had been walking for ten minutes or more that I realized my mistake and took a path that veered away from the blood and off toward another wing of the labyrinth. The last thing I wanted to do was to run into the bull creature again, and tracking it seemed like an a.s.surance that we'd have another encounter. Midnight was pleased with my decision, and nuzzled my hand to tell me so.

At length, we reached the beginning of a fresh set of hallways. A block of marble had been inlaid into the floor and embossed like a grave marker of some sort. It read "The Hall of Barabbas." The thought gave me chills, and I couldn't help thinking of the murderer mentioned in the Bible who had been set free so that Christ could be crucified in his place. Mama didn't just take me to church; she read the Bible to me every day until I could read it for myself. I never thought it would come in handy like this.

Sets of rusty shackles had been fastened to the floor with lengths of heavy gauge chain. Instruments of torture were lined up across the opposite wall, ready to be used on whatever prisoner was unlucky enough to be restrained. A set of thumbscrews glistened faintly in the hallway as if recently used. The walls behind the iron maidens and the beds of nails were made of mirrors.

"What do you think this place is all about?" Midnight didn't bark like I expected him to; instead, he growled and bared his teeth. Something up ahead didn't sit well with him.

He raced ahead of me and faced one of the mirrors, barking as if Satan himself leered at him from the gla.s.s.

I joined him. "What is it, boy?"

The imposing figure in the mirror glared at me as I studied him carefully. Although there were no pictures of the criminal, Barabbas, I knew this had to be him. The man was built like a rock wall: rugged, st.u.r.dy and capable of withstanding a lot of punishment. His bald head was shadowed with day-old stubble, and his teeth were black from all the blasphemies he'd spoken while alive. A spiked club hung from a loop on his belt; it looked like it had been used extensively.

Barabbas studied me too, watching me with black, unfeeling eyes like a deadly animal in a cage. Without warning, he rushed at me from his side of the mirror. I jumped back, nearly tripping over my own feet in an effort to get away. My heart hammered in my chest, and I looked at the murderer in disbelief. How was this possible?

The villain screamed at me, but thankfully all was quiet. I couldn't hear any of the things he was saying to me, but I suspected that they were nasty and filled with curses. He unsheathed the club from his belt and hammered unmercifully at the gla.s.s in an attempt to get to me. I backed away carefully, not sure what the rules were in a place like this. It wouldn't have surprised me if Barabbas stepped right through the mirror and tried to bash my head in.

Like everything else in this cryptic place, I knew there was something special to be learned here. The only question was what?

"Barabbas." I mulled the man's name over. "Why are you so significant?"

The criminal screamed at me, but all I heard was silence. His face was flushed with anger and frustration. Fortunately, the mirror kept the man at bay. Midnight barked at the murderer and bared his teeth, eager to take a bite of the man who had avoided crucifixion at Christ's expense.

Then he turned away from the mirror and barked at me.

"Easy boy." I held my hands out in front of me. Midnight growled and showed me his teeth. The dog's eyes were filled with fear and anger, although I had done nothing to provoke him.

I held my hands up in a calming gesture that was meant to be as harmless as possible. Midnight barked at me with a machine-gun rapidity that echoed off of the labyrinth walls. He seemed like a different animal than before. This wasn't the same dog that had affectionately licked my hand after eating blueberry jelly from that gla.s.s jar. What was wrong with him?

"It's ok, boy." I eased forward, hoping for a chance to soothe him and show him I meant no harm. "Easy, Midnight. Easy."

Midnight saw something in me he didn't like. The moment I got close enough, he leapt at me and sank his teeth into my hand, drawing blood. I recoiled and held my injury close to me. I backed away from the dog cautiously, unwilling to take my eyes off of him for one second. When I had put a few steps between us, I glanced at my hand and saw that his teeth had torn a hunk of flesh out of my palm. Blood dripped from the wound erratically, pattering on the stone floor like scarlet rain.

I peered over my shoulder to see where Barabbas had gotten off to and I was alarmed to see that he was gone. I looked around frantically, fully expecting to see him rush out of the shadows with his club held high to crush my skull with a killing blow, but he had disappeared. It was only as I looked behind me that I saw him in the closest mirror. He, too clutched an injured hand.

I held my hand up in front of the mirror and watched the blood spill. Barabbas did likewise. The sight was enough to send Midnight into a new frenzy, and given what had happened only moments before, I wasn't sure if I needed to be more frightened of the Roman criminal or of the dog. So far, Midnight was the only one who had drawn blood.

I made a few other small movements and watched as Barabbas mimicked me. I wondered if maybe it was the other way around. Maybe I was mimicking Barabbas. Midnight growled at me again, low and menacing, promising violence from some place deep in the back of his throat.

For some reason, the forces that controlled this maze compared me with one of the most notorious criminals in history. I didn't understand it. I hadn't murdered anybody. I hadn't been brought up on charges and later pardoned so that the Son of G.o.d could be killed instead. I was nothing like the man in that mirror.

And yet for every move I made, Barabbas repeated it.

I was starting to understand that everything in this maze was here for a purpose. The jars of pickled organs had been there to point out the flaws I was unwilling to admit. The dinner table with all the Polaroids had been displayed specifically to show me in all my sinful glory. And now this. What could it mean?

I thought about what Barabbas represented. He was the one who had gotten away with his crimes while someone else paid the price. He was the one who walked free so Christ could be crucified in his place. Was I just like Barabbas?

Amy and Peter were paying for my sins. Their lives were in turmoil right now because of my crimes. I remembered the bullet that had struck my skull. Quite possibly, this was all a dream and I was clinging to life in a hospital somewhere. My wife and son faced the prospect of losing me. Had I not gone to Karen's, I never would have ended up in this shape, and they wouldn't have suffered. Amy's heart wouldn't be broken, and Peter wouldn't be facing a childhood that involved living in a broken home.

I didn't need one of those amber pills in my pocket to feel guilty now. On the outside, I was vastly different than Barabbas. But in the heart where it really counted, he and I were the same.

I didn't know what to do with this newly personalized connection with one of the most notorious criminals in the annals of history. I felt a sense of sorrow and a heaviness of heart that was unfamiliar, but I knew that simply being remorseful wasn't good enough. Sometimes saying "I'm sorry" doesn't fix everything. For his part, Midnight didn't seem to care about the psychological ramifications of my mirror image. He was more concerned with taking his pound of flesh out of the Roman thug's hide--and mine. In his eyes, he saw two sides of the same coin, yet he didn't get the chance to attack either of us.

Without warning, long curved scythes descended from the ceiling behind me, suspended from lengths of rusty chain. The blades sawed through the air like razor-sharp pendulums eager to cleave flesh from bone. It was like something out of an Edgar Allan Poe story.

As if getting cut into pieces by swinging razors wasn't problem enough to deal with, Barabbas chose that moment to step out of the mirror. Although horrified and frightened, I recognized the chance for what it was. This was my opportunity to confront my own shortcomings and face those flaws in me that had made others suffer. Barabbas represented those weaknesses in myself. He was the version of me I saw when I looked in the mirror. In so many ways, he was the real me; and I hated that more than words could express.

The criminal bared his blackened teeth at me and laughed. The sound that ripped its way out of his throat was like sandpaper on an open wound.. He held the spiked club in one hand and tested its weight, deciding whether or not it would be suitable for bashing in my brains. I had no such weapon with which to defend myself. The only thing I had going for me was Midnight. Once Barabbas stepped out of the mirror, Midnight was able to distinguish between the two of us. The dog was on my side now.

"h.e.l.lo, sinner." Barabbas carefully eyed the swinging blades. "One way or another, you are going to get hurt down here. You'll either be cut down where you stand or you'll feel the wrath of my mace."

"I don't like either of those options." I moved forward to avoid the blades that sliced through thin air all around me.

Midnight howled and hunkered down, standing before me like a protector. I knew he was looking out for me, but it didn't matter. The scythes weren't swinging low enough to hurt him, but they would have no trouble cutting me in half if I didn't move forward.

Inch by inch, the blades advanced toward me, cutting through the air with a loud swoosh. They drove me toward the end of the hall where Barabbas stood, and I had no choice but to go where I was led. This particular part of the maze had clearly been engineered with one purpose in mind. I was going to have to confront the ugly truth inside of me in the form of Barabbas in order to move forward. Failure to confront that ugly truth would mean death by swinging razor blade. Given that choice, facing off with Barabbas seemed logical and necessary.

I had done a lot of bad things in my time, and a lot of people had paid for my mistakes while I had gotten off scot free. I was just as much to blame for Christ's crucifixion as Barabbas. Christ had died for all of the world's sins. I remembered all of those empty gla.s.s jars waiting to be filled with the evil parts of me and realized I had done my fair share to contribute to that iniquitous burden. It was time I owned up to my mistakes. It was time to start setting things right.

Midnight was just an ordinary dog by all outward appearances, but somehow I knew he was much more than that. He understood things in a way I wasn't capable of explaining. He was a creature of the maze and knew the rules here. That made him valuable to me.

I had no doubt Midnight would jump in the fray to help me when the fighting got started, but I knew in my heart that I would have to take the first step. I had to prove that I wanted to atone. I had to prove that I was strong enough to face Barabbas.

He sneered at me. "What are you waiting for, boy?" I answered him with a running charge and a shout.

The Roman thug seemed genuinely surprised by my courage. He wasn't any more shocked by it than I was. My nature was to avoid trouble at all costs, but once I started running toward the battle, I knew I couldn't stop. I was in this until the death.

Barabbas headed toward me with his club held high. I had no weapon, other than my frustration at being caught in this kind of life-threatening predicament. He swung at me, and I raised my hand in front of my face to protect myself. The club glanced off my forearm, sending a shockwave of pain all the way up to my shoulder. I used my other arm to try and wrestle the club away, but Barabbas was too strong and experienced in hand-to-hand combat. He swept my feet out front under me and was on top of me before I knew it.

Midnight charged, distracting Barabbas long enough for me to gouge him in the eye, but I didn't hurt him much. He shrugged the a.s.sault off quickly, swung his club and knocked Midnight across the room. I heard the dog whimper, but I couldn't see how badly he was hurt.

Barabbas pushed the club against my throat, using both knees for leverage. I gasped for air, choking and coughing and flailing my arms wildly.