John Saul - The Devil's Labyrinth

It had not been a dream at all.

Ryan rested his heated cheek on the cold porcelain floor.

It had not been a dream, and he had not forgotten it, despite Father Sebastian’s final command.

What was happening to him?

† † †

Even though his stomach had calmed — and the marks on his palms were invisible in the darkness — he still couldn’t bring himself to go back to bed. The memories, or fragments of dreams, or whatever they’d been, were still too fresh in his mind to risk going back to sleep.

All he really wanted to do was get out. Out of his room, out of the dorm, out of St. Isaac’s. But where could he go?

It didn’t matter — all that mattered was that he get out. Pulling on his clothes, Ryan slipped out of his room into the silent hallway, grabbing his jacket just before he closed the door silently behind him. But even as he made his way quietly through the dorm, the question of where he was going still hung in his mind. He couldn’t go home — no one was there. But where else was there?

The police?

Even if he found a police station, what was he going to tell them? What had happened — or at least what he thought had happened — sounded crazy even to him, and there was no way the police were going to believe him.

His father.

That’s who he really wanted to talk to. If his father were here, he’d know what to do.

But his father was dead, and his mother was in the hospital.

The hospital! That was it — he’d go to the hospital, and maybe his mother would be awake.

Awake, and able to touch him, and smooth his hair and tell him everything was going to be all right, even though he knew that nothing would ever be right again. Even if she wasn’t awake, at least he’d be able to touch her.

He shuddered slightly as he remembered the last time he’d touched her, and she’d screamed, recoiling away from him even though she was unconscious.

Something was wrong with him. Something was very, very wrong, and it had all started when he’d come to St. Isaac’s, and tonight — right now — he was going to get away. And there was no place to go except the hospital. He moved quickly and quietly through the hallways of the ancient school until he came to a door that led outside into night.

The courtyard was filled with shadows and in every one of them Ryan could feel something sinister hidden, something evil waiting for him. Threading his way quickly through the courtyard, terrified of being seen in the dim moonlight but even more terrified of what might lie in the shadows, Ryan slipped through a narrow passageway between two buildings and emerged out onto the street.

Somewhere in the distance, a clock tolled eleven.

Could it really be that early? If felt more like three in the morning. But his watch agreed with the tolling bell.

He hurried down Willow and Spruce, glancing back over his shoulder every few seconds, half expecting to see Father Sebastian coming after him. But when he got to Beacon and started cutting across the end of the Common to the Park Street station, he began to relax just a little. At the subway entrance, he ran down the stairs, scanned his Link Pass at the turnstile, and headed down to the platform. According to the map, the green line would take him to within a block or so of the hospital, just three stops after the one he’d have gotten off at if he were actually going home. For a moment he wondered if there might be another route, but even if he could figure it out, it might take the rest of the night. Better to just go the way he knew.

A security camera caught his eye, and Ryan found himself stepping back until a pillar concealed him from its lens. But even if it caught him, what did it matter? He wasn’t really doing anything wrong — sneaking out of the school wasn’t like mugging someone. And yet, even as he tried to step away from the pillar, something — that thing— inside him held back, unwilling to step out of the shadows.

Was that it? Was it not he, himself, that was afraid of being seen, but rather that thing he could feel inside himself, trying to take over?

The D train pulled into the station, and Ryan boarded quickly, wishing there were more people on the car than the bum dozing in a seat in the far corner, and a woman about his mother’s age dressed in some kind of waitress’s uniform, who glanced at him for a second or two then went back to the magazine she was reading.

Yet even though the bum was asleep and the waitress was reading, he still had the feeling that someone was watching him.

What was wrong with him? Why was he feeling so paranoid? All he was doing was going to see his mother. It wasn’t like he was going to do something wrong.

Was he?

Now the dream he had last night about stalking Tom Kelly rose up in his mind. But that had been only a dream — it wasn’t as if he was actually stalking anybody. And he sure wasn’t going to kill anybody — he was just going to go visit his mother.

Then why was he afraid someone was going to see him?

Half an hour later, Ryan left the train and ran up the steps to the street two at a time. The hospital was just a couple of blocks to the left, and as he started walking, a vague sense of relief began to replace the paranoia he’d been feeling since he’d awakened only a little over an hour ago.

Ten minutes later he was outside his mother’s room in the ICU, gazing in through the glass at her thin, pale body. There were tubes and wires everywhere, and half a dozen glowing screens flashing graphs and numbers. His mother lay absolutely still in the confusion of equipment, and as he gazed at her, a terrible question rose in Ryan’s mind.

What if she doesn’t wake up?

What if she dies?

The cold fingers of terror began to close around his throat. He swallowed hard, then swallowed again, fighting not only against the fear that suddenly threatened to overwhelm him, but the tears that were welling in his eyes. His fingertips turned white as he gripped the metal window casing.

Every time his father had been sent away, he’d left Ryan in charge of taking care of his mother. But back then — back when his father was still alive — nothing terrible had ever happened. And besides, he’d always known, despite his father’s words, that his mother would take care of him.

But now everything was different. Something terrible had happened, and he had failed.

He hadn’t taken care of her. He had let her down, and he had let his dad down, and he had let himself down.

He needed his father. He needed to tell his father that he couldn’t take care of his mother, that it was too great a responsibility, that he was too young, and he wasn’t up to it, and he had failed.

A sob broke through the choking in his throat and reverberated through the silent hospital hallway and his eyes blurred with tears. But as he wiped the tears away with his sleeve, he suddenly saw something else in his mother’s room.

Something that hadn’t been there before.

A figure.

A figure standing at his mother’s bedside. But a second ago there hadn’t been anyone in there but his mother! He rubbed his sleeve across his eyes and looked again.

It was his father! His father standing at his mother’s side. Standing straight and tall, in his full-dress uniform.

Ryan rubbed his eyes — it was impossible!

Was he having another dream?

His father’s eyes met his, and Ryan sobbed again. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “So—”

“My gift.”

The two words struck Ryan as clearly as if he’d been standing right next to his father, not fifteen feet away on the other side of a heavy glass door. And now, as he watched, he saw his father touch the silver crucifix that hung around his neck.