Free The Maze - the Lost Labyrinth by Jason Brannon

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 God 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