When Christopher woke up at dawn, the sun hadn’t risen yet.

He struggled to get up. His body was still sore from lying down for so long, and for some unknown reason, his wrist ached when he put some weight on it.

He couldn’t help but smirk when he noticed the yellow gloves he was wearing.

He had decided to sleep with the gloves on, just in case something happened. However, he couldn’t help but be embarrassed about going out wearing a pair of bright yellow gloves.

After quickly eating breakfast at an empty canteen, he returned to his room, and not long after, two men arrived. They wore formal business suits, similar to Lisa’s, and presented themselves as E.A.D. agents.

Christopher quickly scanned their bodies but couldn’t find anything resembling a Tale.

Maybe they are not Authors, he thought. However, he was certain they both carried a handgun at their waist.

They accompanied Christopher out of his room, used their fingerprints on the elevator to access the garage, and finally put him in the back of a black SUV.

To Christopher’s surprise, two security checks were necessary to leave the center. The first was exiting the garage, and the second was when going through the tall, armored wall. Both times, the guards at the gates complained, and only after a few phone calls did they permit them to leave.

The car ride was uneventful and lasted over seven hours, taking them across two borders—Switzerland to France and France to Belgium.

By the time they arrived at the hospital–a massive structure comprised of five interconnected buildings–it was already past lunch.

While one of the agents went to park the car, the other took Christopher around the building and led him inside.

The hospital was bustling with activity, and it took over twenty minutes before they were finally attended to at reception. After a brief word exchange, they were given Christine’s room number and allowed inside.

“We’ve arrived,” said the agent.

They stood before a white wooden door adorned with golden, metallic numbers “6-66”.

“You can go inside,” the agent said. “I’ll be waiting by the door if you need anything.”

Christopher nodded and stumbled towards the door as weakness permeated his body.

His breath was short and ragged, and his heart beat so fast he was worried it would jump out of his chest. He grabbed the handle, and that cursed memory replayed again in his mind. Christopher hesitated.

“Are you okay?” Asked the agent. Christopher’s face was sickly pale, and he looked about to pass out.

Don’t be a coward. He told himself.

Christopher ignored the agent, opened the door, and stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.

The familiar sound of the hospital machines greeted him.

The room was small but cozy and had a big window with flowery yellow curtains through which gentle sunlight entered. A hospital bed occupied most of the room, and a small figure lay on it.

A lonely tear fell from Christopher’s right eye as he approached the bed.

A small, blonde-haired girl gently rested with her eyes closed. She had freckled skin and a snuby little nose stuck between her puffy cheeks.

Christine was taller than he remembered, but she had also grown thinner and paler–likely due to her extended coma. A five-inch scar, partially hidden beneath her curly hair, marred her appearance.

Christopher could no longer hold back the tears and kneeled on the ground, sobbing.

He had done this. He had killed his father and put Christine into a comma. He was guilty… He…

Christopher cried his heart out, overwhelmed by despair. How could he live like this, knowing what he had done? His heart was too heavy, and for a moment, he was sure his mind would break, unable to carry such a weight.

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Christopher wished Sarah wouldn’t have thrown him into the Labyrinth. It hurt too much.

“Coward,” he shouted, banging his closed fist against the floor. “Fucking coward!”

He slowly rose and leaned over the bed.

Gently, he took Christine’s warm hand in his own, tracing each of her teeny tiny fingers one by one. They felt like delicate miniatures, yet he couldn’t feel them through his gloves. Despite his newly enhanced senses, he couldn’t feel the softness of her skin.

Only he knew how much he missed her touch.

A hazy memory of a tall, dark-haired man made his way to his mind. Christopher knew that man. He couldn’t remember his name, but he had accompanied Sarah yesterday. He was certain the man hadn’t spoken even once, and yet, he could now hear a blurry but sure voice, and it told him exactly what he needed to hear.

Christopher had to go Inside the Labyrinth. Deep within its lowest floors, there was surely a treasure or skill that could save Christine.

“I will save you,” Christopher whispered in her ear. “Hang on and don’t go anywhere. I promise to bring you back.” He swore–He would tear through the Labyrinth until he found a way to save Christine.

Christopher rested his head gently on her lap. He could hear her tiny heart beating calmly and her slow breath every few seconds.

He closed his eyes, and that cursed memory threatened to invade his mind again, but he suppressed it. He wouldn’t allow it to ruin this moment.

Christopher caressed her face while singing her favorite lullaby.

He dreamed of her reacting to his voice and miraculously waking up, but happy endings like that only happened in movies. Lost in the moment, he didn’t even realize how fast time passed. A knock on the door interrupted his daze.

“Christopher, it’s time to go,” said the agent waiting outside.

“Just five more minutes, please,” he requested.

“We can stay one more hour if you’d like. But there’s a Miss Deveraux downstairs who’s coming to visit her,” he explained. “Joseph won’t be able to distract her much longer.”

Mom? Thought Christopher.

He looked at Christine again. Not only was he not yet ready to face his mother, but he also didn’t want to risk revealing himself as alive only to face death inside the Labyrinth in a few days. No, he couldn’t bear to hurt her again.

He stole one last look at Christine and engraved her image in his mind.

‘I’ll take care of you,’ he promised before leaving the room.

─ ⴵ ─

Christopher sat in the back seat of the SUV, filled with regret.

I’m not being selfish; he tried convincing himself. He was trying to save his mother from unnecessary suffering. He could talk with her after surviving the Prelude… If he survived.

Christopher had seen his mother from behind when they passed through the lobby. Her curly gray hair was unmistakable, even from a distance. But she seemed older and tired. Losing her family had put a huge burden on her.

I’m sorry, Mom.

From the passenger seat, Joseph turned around and handed him a bag with a burger and fries.

“I had a feeling you would be hungry after the visit,” he said, and Christopher thanked him. It was a nice gesture, and he was indeed hungry.

Soon, they entered the highway, and the car picked up speed.

The journey back was uneventful; however, when they finally arrived, Christopher was so tired that he didn’t bother to have dinner. He thanked the E.A.D. agents and went right to sleep.

He dreamt of returning to Christine’s room. She was sleeping on her bed, serene, exactly as he had left her. He approached and caressed her face with tenderness, determined to make that perfect moment last forever.

Christine’s eyes and mouth opened without warning, and the world around Christopher changed.

He was back to the car crash, staring at Christine’s lifeless body stuck under the wreckage. He wanted to approach her, to take her body out of the debris, but each time he took a step forward, she got further away.

“Christine!” he screamed, but to no avail.

Orange tears fell from his eyes, forming a puddle at his feet.

The landscape changed again.

Christopher found himself inside a narrow tunnel built out of ancient stone bricks. Thick, red liquid seeped from the gaps between the bricks, slowly crawling through the floor and enclosing Christopher.

Is this inside the Labyrinth? He asked.

A disgusting gargling noise came from behind him as if to answer his question.

Just ten feet away, a malformed throne jutted out of the stone wall like a tumor. Christine sat upon it, bathed in eerie crimson light. Christopher immediately knew that something was wrong.

Her curly, blonde hair had turned blood red, her skin was snow-pale, glassy like porcelain, and her eyes were completely white, rolled back into her skull.

“Christine?” He called for her, but she didn’t answer.

She raised a hand and pointed a finger towards him, or so he thought. A moment later, the thick red liquid on the floor transformed into hundreds of red threads that slithered in the air around him.

The distance between them disappeared in an instant, and he found himself face-to-face with Christine.

“Baby?”

Her face turned into a grin, and her lower jaw extended. Her mouth opened wider than a regular human could, revealing countless rows of squared black teeth.

Terrified, Christopher tried to step back, but the red threads twisting around him dashed forward, binding his arms, legs, and torso before he could react.

“Christine?” he begged, but she didn’t react.

Instead, she leaned forward, covering him with her monstrous mouth.

“Christine–!” he tried shouting in terror, but before he could finish, Christine’s mouth closed, devouring him whole.