The Cracks in the Labyrinth

Chapter 9 (Part 1)

Adam thought the adjacent parking lot couldn't be as dark as the crypt where he'd spent the entire morning.

He was right.

It was worse.

Any trace of the white-hot noon sun was nonexistent down there. The few halogen bulbs left on the ceiling, amidst their annoying electric buzzing, didn't let him see more than a few feet ahead of him.

Unlike last night, the stench of rotten meat was strong enough to make him cough. Adam didn't know what could cause such a foul smell, but his mind soon filled with images of larvae bursting through the swollen skin of a decomposing animal secreting pus.

"Dear God."

Adam leaned on a pillar to regain his balance while his throat closed as the stink left a weird aftertaste in his mouth. Stumbling, he heard drops falling from a broken pipe and considered standing beneath it to refresh his face streaked with sweat.

No, he thought. Get this over with.

Adam held his breath and subdued his urge to vomit. Little by little, his eyes distinguished a faint red light coming from the back of the parking lot, where a caged storage unit contained the swimming pool cleaning supplies.

"This wasn't here last night."

The crimson glow came from a portable LED work light hanging from a pipe; below it, there was an improvised table made of empty plastic beer boxes. What is this? On it, there were several bottles filled with urine and feces. Wait a moment. Adam drew closer and realized he was wrong. These are chemicals, but what kind?

He leaned forward to get a better look at a round crystal fishbowl, brimming with clear alcohol. Instead of fish, inside, it was a massive millipede. A mixture of disgust and curiosity filled Adam. He hated bugs, especially their legs, since that night at his grandparents' house in Yaracuy when he woke up to cockroaches crawling all over him.

As a child, after he cried for help, Adam had expected his grandpa to come running and rescue him from those horrible insects. Instead, his grandfather slapped him and shouted: "This is what you get for eating candy in bed. And stop whining, you little pig!"

Adam remembered how that slap stung for days, but it was never as bad as the dread of ever having to endure those thorny legs on his skin again.

Cockroaches, at least, had only six extremities; this thing in the fishbowl had hundreds. Adam couldn't help but imagine that terrible creature, with its long cylindrical body, thicker than a grown man's index finger, moving its thousand tapered legs as it crept on his neck.

This thought jolted Adam into an upright position, making him notice a silhouette cloaked in the shadows near him.

"I'm not dead," said the homeless man, stepping into the light; his voice was that of someone who hasn't spoken in days.

Adam moved back, regretting not having the expandable baton with him. That phrase alone might have been enough to bring a chill to anyone, and yet nothing but a strange emptiness overcame him.

'I'm not dead.' It made sense to Adam. The man looked less like a panhandler and more like a corpse that hatched out of his coffin. His greenish-yellow skin; his thin, dirty hair; the miasma of putrefaction engulfing him—it would all have baffled even the most accomplished coroner.

"You're scaring the neighbors," said Adam.

The homeless man smiled in wonder, showing a meagre set of teeth. His awe was short-lived, however. Soon, he wrinkled his forehead in disappointment.

"Not yet."

Adam wasn't keen on talking to a madman.

"You can't be here."

"It's late," the homeless man scratched the unruly gray beard that covered most of his face and neck. "But not yet."

"The police—"

The homeless man made a farting noise with his mouth, mocking Adam.

"There's no police."

"Leave."

After fretting through several pockets, the homeless man produced a broken compass and offered it to Adam.

"Go on. Take it."

The stench, bearable at moments, came back in nauseating detail.

"If you don't go..." Adam shuddered. "They'll kill you."

"I'm not dead."

"You sure?"

"Let me stay here. I have to protect him."

"Is not up to me."

"If it's not up to you, who's in control?"

Adam cursed through his teeth. If the homeless man didn't leave on his own, what would he do? God, I don't want to touch him. Who knows what diseases he has? Is he armed? A tremendous fluttering sprang up in his stomach. He stays. You can kiss your PC goodbye.

"Fuck this," Adam seized him by the arm.

The homeless man grabbed the fishbowl with the millipede inside it and started drinking its content.

He's not swallowing in it, Adam realized as the beggar turned around and spat him in the face.

"No!"

His eyes felt like they were boiling. It didn't matter how much he rubbed them; it was impossible to bring anything into focus. In a couple of seconds, the weak red light grew dimmer and smaller until only darkness remained.

Adam was blind.

To be continued...