Page 106 of There is No Devil

He’s waiting. Watching me. Making sure we’re truly alone.

I continue up the path, adrenaline coursing through my veins.

Every creak of a branch, every rustle in the bushes makes me want to scream. It doesn’t matter if Shaw can see the tension in my body, if he can see my footsteps quickening. He knows I’m frightened and that’s just fine—it will only excite him.

He’ll think I came here stupidly, in the heat of the fight, only now realizing that someone might have followed.

The air feels thick and expectant, as if even the wind is holding its breath to see what will happen next.

I step out of the trees, finally arriving on the high, flat vista where Cole built his sculpture.

It towers over me, the glossy black walls of the labyrinth over twenty feet tall.

The entrance yawns like a dark mouth. I know the route through, because Cole showed me his diagram dozens of times. But I’m also aware how disorienting it will be inside, with no proper lights and several false paths designed to trick me.

I step out into the clearing, slowly approaching the entrance. My boots crunch over the dry, frosty grass, the sparkling train of my dress whispering behind me.

Something soft touches my cheek.

I look upward.

Puffy flakes of snow drift down from the thick bank of clouds.

I stare in astonishment: I’ve never seen snow in San Francisco in all my life. It feels surreal, as if this is only happening to me. As if I truly have stepped into another world.

I turn to look back the way I came, to the tangled tunnel of branches and the dark path beneath.

A figure steps into view. Tall, broad, dressed in a midnight-blue tuxedo. Fists clenched at his sides. Chin lowered like a bull as he stares at me.

We both stand fixed in place. Frozen like ice sculptures. Waiting for the other to move.

Shaw’s lips split apart in a grin.

He lowers his head and charges.

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He barrels toward me, arms pumping, legs churning, head down like a linebacker, crossing the space between us with horrifying speed.

I don’t have time to think or even to scream.

I turn and sprint into the labyrinth.

The black glass envelops me, cutting off the outside world. The walls appear sleek and featureless, but I know there’s hidden doorways in the glass, impossible to find unless you stand at just the right angle, or run your fingers down their length until you find the openings.

I don’t have to do this, because I already know the way.

I hurtle down the dark alleyway, taking a hard right, then a left. I head to the next intersection and run down the middle branch, hoping that I’m losing Shaw with all these turns.

Cole should already be inside the labyrinth, hiding up ahead.

My chest burns, my legs shaking beneath me. I underestimated how frightened I’d be, and how heavily it would affect me: my legs are rubber, my feet stone lumps inside of my boots.

I’m starting to worry that I misremembered the turns, and I should have gone right instead of left at this last turn. The reflective glass disorients me. Ghostly versions of myself chase along my left and right side, splitting off at dizzying angles every time I turn. These bits of motion in my peripheral make me jump and spin, thinking Shaw is right behind me. Now I’m not even certain if I’m going the right way. I might have turned all the way around.

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