by Dan Rix
Not while I could.
We crossed over through A again, back up to level four. Out in the bright hallway, we found the bathroom door locked from the inside—a good sign—and forced the door. Sure enough, the mirror’s symmetry was broken. And not only that.
A bloody handprint was smeared on the back of the sink, only partially wiped off—as if Charles had attempted to clean up from the other side then given up.
“Bingo,” said Damian. “It’s A, B, C.”
“He’s making it easy.”
“No, he’s breaking symmetry through all the mirrors as quickly as possible, so the permutations multiply.”
“Next time, just agree with me,” I said.
“Where’s the fun in that?” He planted a palm on the edge of the sink and was about to hoist up a leg.
“No.” I grabbed his elbow and pushed him away from the sink. “From now on, you do the thinking and I do the exploring. You’re staying here.”
“Not an option, Blaire.”
I locked eyes with him. “That’s an order.”
“I’m not letting you go alone,” he said.
“And I’m not letting you go any deeper,” I said. “At least not until we solve the maze. We both know you won’t survive.”
“Blaire, I can’t let you go alone,” he repeated.
“You’re staying—” I said, and before he could react, I snatched his gun out of his pants and leveled the barrel at the bathroom mirror, “or I break the mirror and orphan us both.”
“Blaire—” he lunged for the weapon.
I jumped out of reach, cocked the gun like I had seen him do so many times, and returned the barrel to the mirror. The trigger depressed a millimeter under my finger. “Swear to me you won’t crossover,” I said.
“Blaire, stop it!”
“Swear it.”
Our eyes drilled into each other, but I wasn’t going to back down. I couldn’t.
I was in love with him.
Finally, in a strained whisper he said, “You have five minutes. If you’re not back in five minutes, I’m coming after you.”
“Fine,” I said.
To my relief, he yanked the gun out of my hand and took out the clip—I had no idea how much more pressure would have fired the gun.
“Charles crossed over through C last,” he said, returning the weapon to his pants, “meaning A and B already had broken symmetry. Once you crossover, you’ll need to explore both paths. After that, all three mirrors will be possible branches, so you’ll need to explore each one. If you see your reflection, you’ve hit a dead end. If you haven’t found a dead end by three levels down, then come back; we can assume that’s the branch he took. And no matter what, put up tape on every mirror.”
“I can’t put on tape and be back in five minutes.”
“I changed my mind. You have three minutes.”
“Three minutes?”
“Two minutes.”
“Okay, fine. I’ll put up tape.” I dropped the backpack on the floor, hiked up my dress to mid-thigh, and raised a leg onto the sink.
“Blaire, stop.”
I ignored him, pushed off with my other leg and stood on the sink. “Don’t peek up my dress; I know you want to.”
He did. “Nothing I haven’t already seen . . . cute panties.”
I kicked him away from the sink, a hot blush burning my cheeks. My head brushed the ceiling, and I raised my hand to the mirror.
“Blaire, what do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m having tea up here, what the fuck does it look like I’m doing?”
“What did I just tell you?”
I rolled my eyes. “What, Damian?”
“Tape, Blaire. Always put up tape.”
I paused, my palm on the mirror. “Why? You’re going to be right here the whole time—”
“I don’t care. Wait here.” He left the bathroom, left me standing on the sink like an idiot, and returned a minute later with two rolls of masking tape—one red, one blue.
I pressed a red strip onto the mirror, and looped the rolls around my wrist.
“Bigger,” he said.
“Will you shut it,” I said.
“You asked to go alone. These are my conditions.”
Fuming, I dragged the red tape back off my wrist and plastered half the roll into the glass.
“Don’t waste it,” he warned.
On my way through the mirror, I kicked him in the face with my trailing foot. Then I was through.
It was a mistake to be so high.
I tumbled off the sink, head spinning, and my body slapped the floor. The impact knocked the breath out of me. Wheezing, I crawled to the toilet and threw up what little I had in my stomach. Nausea ravaged my organs. I spit, and yanked toilet paper across my mouth.
What the hell? I had just been five levels down two minutes ago, why did this time suck so much?
“Blaire—” came Damian’s muffled voice, concerned.
“I’m fine,” I lied, quickly wiping away my tears. I dragged myself to the door.
“Jesus Christ,” he said. “For once in your life, would it kill you to put up some goddamn tape?”
But I didn’t put up the tape.
I stood frozen in the doorway and stared out at the shimmering hallway. A message spanned the acoustic paneling between rooms A and B, drips frozen in place. Inked in blood. The letters peeled, littering the floor with black flakes.
A message left by Charles.
Blaire, you are the one thing that doesn’t belong.
Chapter 25
“That means we’re on the right track,” Damian reassured me through the glass. “Anything that’s changed means he’s been here. Don’t let him get to your head.”
I suppressed a swallow and crept up the hall. First stop, room A—broken symmetry.
The mirror led deeper.
I picked at the edge of the red tape, but my quivering fingers just jabbed the roll. I couldn’t unpeel the end. Heart pounding, I raised the roll to my teeth and bit off a section, then stuck it to the glass. It came off on my finger.
I tried again, but my saliva and sweat had weakened the adhesive. I propped it on a fingernail, then touched it the glass. Somehow, the tape stuck.
Before I accidentally brushed it off, I crossed over.
On the other side, the air tasted stale. My limbs and lungs throbbed, and I knelt to catch my breath. Only there was no breath to catch.
I stood up straight, panic rising in my throat. Though my diaphragm contracted, my body told me I wasn’t breathing. Couldn’t breathe.
Oxygen deficit.
I remembered the feeling from cross country—from overtaxing my lung’s capacity in the final sprint, finish line in sight.
Only the finish line wasn’t in sight. I wasn’t even sprinting.
Six levels down.
Lightheaded, I stumbled back toward the mirror. I needed air.
No, Blaire. If I went back, then Damian would have to crossover. I sank into a fetal position, forced my lungs to hold in the air, to use it. I couldn’t let myself pass out. Not an option. At some point, my body acclimated. But the fear of suffocating never went away.
Eventually, I rose to my feet and marked the mirror with a chewed off section of blue tape, then stumbled out the door into the hallway, which no longer bore Charles’s message, since this was a deeper reflection of a higher level. Blackness encroached around the edges of my vision. I blinked it away.
Next stop: room B.
You can do this, Blaire.
***
I’d gotten so used to broken symmetry, my reflection in the mirror in room B startled me.
Symmet
ry intact.
Which left the bathroom mirror.
I trudged down the hall and stepped into the bathroom, and found the symmetry broken.
Another branch to explore.
After I applied red tape, I hiked up my dress and climbed onto the sink, then crossed over.
Seven levels down.
On the other side, I paused to catch my breath, and my mind returned to Damian.
Standing in this very bathroom on another level. And where was that . . . somewhere above me? In a different universe?
I put up the blue tape and trudged back up the hallway, pausing to peer into room A.
Broken symmetry.
Another freaking branch.
I let the door shut behind me and stuck on a piece of red tape, which I ducked under to crossover.
Eight levels down.
Tape applied, I exited room A—and felt my scalp bristle. Charles’s message, written in blood, again stretched between rooms A and B.
Somehow, I had doubled back.
“Damian?” I called.
No answer.
I hurried into the bathroom, but he wasn’t across the mirror. I collapsed against the wall and slid to the floor, cradling my head in my hands. This was hopeless.
I was eight levels down, not five. In a deeper reflection of a higher level, like he had explained. Suddenly, I desperately needed to hear his voice again.
I hurried back to room A and crossed over, breathing easier on the other side.
Level seven.
But which mirror had I crossed over before that? I went to the bathroom, expecting to see blue tape. Instead, the glass was bare. It led to a deeper level.
I raced back up the hall to room B. Asphyxiation numbed my thoughts, blurred my short term memory. How much time before he came looking for me? Not enough. How much time before I suffocated? Frantic, I slipped into room B and shined my flashlight at the mirror—and almost jumped back in surprise.
My reflection.
So if it wasn’t C and it wasn’t B, then I must have gotten turned around somewhere. I had to go back up through A.
I tugged open the door back to the hall, and that’s when I heard it.
A door latched shut—Damian, searching for me. Which meant he crossed over again. At the thought, my insides squirmed . . . or was it Charles? I rushed into the hallway, but couldn’t pinpoint the source, either the bathroom or room A.
***
“Damian!” I yelled.
No answer. The doors, walls, everything was soundproofed. Right now, I could be on the same level as him, oblivious.
I stood still and listened. Noises pricked my ears. Whirring fans and insect-like clicking seeped from the walls itself, from ancient circuits and machinery Charles had installed, long since corroded and mutated. Here, the line between living and dead blurred.
Either A or C.
Damian must have known B was a dead end and so hadn’t bothered to check. Of course, in the five seconds I was hidden inside the room, he had come and gone. Most likely, he had just checked the bathroom mirror for tape, seen none, and gone back up through A.
I scurried into room A, where a chewed up piece of blue tape hung off the frame. Not where I had put it, but blue nonetheless. A good sign. I crossed over.
Nausea cut through my body. Great, now going up hurt.
Six levels down.
Panting, I ran into the hall, past Charles’s message. The sight of the flaking black letters made me pause. Charles’s writing only existed on level five, where I left Damian, and level eight . . . and, of course, deeper. I’d been to eight and back, so this had to be level five. Relief flooded me—I was already back to where we split up.
“Damian?” I yelled again
No answer. I checked the bathroom, but nobody stood across the mirror. Focus, Blaire, focus. I cranked on the faucet and splashed my face with cold water, which snapped me out of my daze.
My gaze lifted to the mirror, which I knew led to level four, where I had last seen Damian—and slowly traced the perimeter.
Tapeless.
My throat tightened. I had put up blue tape on this very mirror . . . Damian had insisted. And on the other side, I had plastered on so much red tape he even cautioned me not to waste it—I could swear it.
Yet this mirror was untouched.
Now I understood why it was harder than ever to catch my breath, why my fingertips tingled, pale and cold. Why blood withdrew from my extremities, supplying whatever trace amounts of usable oxygen remained in my bloodstream to my organs and abandoning all else.
Prickles scampered across my skin. In my rush to find Damian, I hadn’t put up a single strip of tape; I had simply backtracked, assuming the path was obvious. But somewhere above me—or below me—how many levels down I couldn’t even begin to guess, I had made a wrong turn.
I was lost.
***
In the hallway, my breath misted. I squeezed my arms to my chest, and my skin bristled with goose bumps. The dress did little to warm me.
Come on, think . . .
My eyes darted between room B and room A, which I had just crossed over. Either one could lead up or down. I took a labored breath, and pressure stung my sinuses.
What if I never saw him again? Just like that. A single wrong turn, forever damning me to the endless depths of this maze.
Orphaned.
At the thought, my panic sharpened. I would never see my friends again. I would never go to school again. I would never be alive again. Just like that, I had let the source slip through my fingers, thrown it all away—and with it, myself. In retrospect, my own carelessness chilled me.
Now only one thing survived from my world. Damian.
Losing him was not an option.
I ran into Charles’s office, lit only by the blue glow of the computer screen. Had Charles come in here? Curious, I leaned around the desk. An error code hovered at the screen’s center. If he had, I doubt we would ever know what for.
I grabbed the fattest looking permanent marker I could find and jogged back into the hall. On the door to room B, I wrote in big brown letters, “Damian, I’m lost. I went this way.”
Then I entered the room and stepped through the mirror. The glass cut through my body, but I felt nothing. Nothing?
I couldn’t even tell if I was going up or down. My shouts went unanswered in the hallway, so I jogged to room A and wrote a similar message as my first on the door.
The crossover through A sprawled me out on the ground, and I crawled to the corner and dry heaved. Somehow, I knew this was the deepest I had ever crossed over.
And the wrong direction.
I dragged myself back through the mirror, but the damage didn’t quite leave my body. I felt it linger somewhere inside me, like a coating of tar. I dragged my body into the bathroom. The mirror loomed above me, unreachable.
I curled into a ball under the sink, wheezing. My lungs clenched and pulled at nothing, sucked in lungful after lungful of vacuum, each one leaving me emptier than before. The air was poisoning me, I knew that much.
Better to just hold my breath.
I clamped my nose and smothered my mouth against my knees, sealing in whatever air I had left.
Chapter 26
Hands on my shoulders woke me up, who knows how long later, and I sat up gasping for air. Damian collapsed next to me, and the backpack slumped against the wall.
I stared at the side of his face, split between disbelief and awe, and euphoria swelled up inside me. I flung my arms around him and collapsed against his chest, drinking in his scent. He was the only thing real in this world.
“You shouldn’t be down here,” I moaned. It wasn’t a reprimand. It was an apology.
“You did your best,” he murmured, enfolding me in his arms.
“Damian, we’re never going to make it,” I said. “I can’t breathe.”
“Here.” He dug a medicine bottle and a canteen out of the backpack. “Take one of these.”
“What is it?” I said, opening my mouth.
He pressed a white pill—which tasted like pure salt—onto my tongue, and I washed it down with a swig from the canteen.
“Potassium iodide. It helps with crossover.”
“It better help a lot,” I said, trying to suck the sting out of my mouth.
“By the way,” he said, “thanks for leaving clues.”
“I still got lost.”
“I can guess why.” He reached behind my head and peeled something off my hair. He showed me the wad, tangled up with my auburn hair, where no less than three pieces of blue and red tape had come off the mirrors on which I’d left them and attached to my hair. He curled the tape into a ball and flicked it at the toilet. I watched it bounce on the tile, two feet short.
He kissed my hair. “That’s the last time I’m letting you out of my sight. I don’t care if it kills me.”
“Deal,” I said, no longer feeling like arguing. Plus, I knew I couldn’t let him out of my sight again either. “How deep are we?”
“You weren’t as lost as you thought you were.” His breath warmed the top of my head. “We just have to go through B, A, C , then A again to get back to where we split up. We’re nine levels down.”
The number meant nothing to me. It wasn’t like one, or two. Nine was too high to count, too much damage to our bodies to fathom. “How do you know all this?” I asked.
He slid a notebook out of the backpack and flipped it open. “Because when I was looking for you, I figured out Charles’s maze—and I think we’re about to go a lot deeper.”
***
I had the brief image of Damian moving swiftly through the maze, eyes fierce and determined. I never wanted us to part again.
On a blank page, he drew a triangle and tapped the center with his pencil. “This is the beginning of the maze. There are three mirrors to choose from. A, B, and C.”