The Minotaur Hyde

By W.F. Gigliotti

Marcus Tristan is on a mission to save his son. He is joined by a group of unlikely assassins ...

Reeda Benefid - An archer who is afraid of everything.
Freden Baxter - A computer hacker.
Gloria Heddy - A Las Vegas dancer with a newborn baby.
Darius Amun - A one-man army, God's gift to guns.
Adama "The Wolf" Woolsey - An adrenaline junky mountain climber.
And the enigmatic Gemma Smith, a white witch whose skin is so white that she can even be seen in the dark.

The group enters a paranormal labyrinth, a complex maze that is both literal and figurative, in a pocket dimension created by the mind of its master.

Together, they must traverse all of the levels of the labyrinth, deal with the labyrinth's horrifying master, and foil his devious plans before legions of monstrous horrors escape and spread out into the real world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: W.F. Gigliotti
• Release date: Aug 23, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370849444

Book preview

Chapter 1 -- FOR THE SON, FOR THE FATHER

Assumptions can never convey the whole truth, and are often falsehoods.

Boom.

Boom.

Ba-Boom.

The car thundered down the street like a sorry excuse for a disguised ice cream truck advertising its various illegal drugs to the hopelessly addicted of the neighborhood. Marcus assumed that it was a drug dealer’s car. What else could it be? Cloud trails wafted from the car’s open windows as it passed. A product of the drug use within, Marcus thought. This would be a normal thing in an ordinary bad part of town. In this part of the city, though, it might as well have been a defenseless group of rich men, just daring someone to rob them.

Anyone with money was a target here.

This was the worst part of the city. Down here, drawing too much attention to yourself was a quick ticket to your doom. The only people who came down here belonged here. The rest be damned.

It was raining. The rain and the sporadic boom of real thunder were the only other sounds. Water dripped from Marcus' overcoat and baseball cap like water from a house with a broken set of gutters as the sound from the car faded into the distance.

A group of young kids played football in an old basketball court. The smallest of the kids stared at Marcus through the chain link fence as he walked past. The kid whistled to his friends, who stopped what they were doing, let the football fall to the ground with an audible thud into the water, and walked over to join him.

This man has come here to die, the youngest one said. The children did not move but continued to watch Marcus without a word as Marcus walked past them. Their clothing was tattered and torn. Their eyes showed accelerated age. When he was past the basketball court, the youngest kid started laughing.

The phone call had changed everything.

Is this Marcus Tristan? the raspy female voice had said over the phone.

Marcus had just arrived home and had started unwinding from his day at work. Usually, when he answered the phone and someone on the other end asked him that question, it meant a sales call. He figured there was half a chance that it was not the case this time.

Yes? he said.

It's about your son, Mister Tristan. They have him and he is in danger, the woman on the phone said.

Who is this? How did you get this number? Marcus asked. He suspected that this was just a prank. Even Brice did not know this number.

Brice is in trouble, Mister Tristan, the woman said. If you would wish to save him, I might be able to help you. My name is Gemma.

Save him? Who has him? Marcus’ heart beat faster. This was no prank. Brice had gotten involved with the wrong people, and it had partially been Marcus’ fault. He had known something like this might happen.

Come to the area just in front of The Three Sparx Hotel, Mister Tristan, Gemma said. It will be the side with the burnt out nightclub. I will see you there, Gemma said. She coughed for a bit. But do not ask for me directly.

What time? How will I know who you are?

When I see you, Mister Tristan, you will know. Come unarmed. Come alone.

To The Three Sparx hotel? Alone? Are you nuts? Marcus asked. Nobody in their right mind would go down there. But it was too late. He heard an audible click, followed by a dial tone.

When the call was over, Marcus grabbed his overcoat, paused, took out his wallet, and then placed it into one of his desk drawers. If he had nothing on him, he would not have to worry about being robbed. He paused. If he were killed, it would be harder to identify him without his driver's license, but if he were dead, it would not matter. Brice was his only family now. So, even if he died trying to find Brice, nobody would be left to care for the corpse anyway. The wallet stayed in the drawer.

The Three Sparx Hotel was no longer a hotel. It was a shell, taken over by all of the criminals in the city. The place was bad news. Every night brought more horror stories from it on the evening news. New murders happened in the area surrounding it every day, and none of the murders were ever solved. Signs around the outskirts of the neighborhood warned people to stay away from the hotel, and to turn back before they got too deep into the area.

The three square miles around the hotel was like its own nation, with its own military, ruled by chaos.

Marcus stopped walking. He stood in two inches of water. He had long given up in avoiding such puddles, so strong a rain this was. Now was not the time to think about seemingly trivial matters, such as keeping his feet dry. His baseball cap was doing a good job of keeping most of the rain out of his eyes, but he had to let himself see his destination. He had never seen The Three Sparx hotel from this close before.

The Three Sparx hotel had been a luxury establishment when it first opened twenty years ago. The one-hundred-story building was built like a beacon of hope, ready to turn around the filth and crime of the area that the developers had built it in, but it ended up doing the opposite. It stood now like a monstrous hexagonal monolith, a magnet for murder and mayhem. It was still a few blocks away, but it dominated Marcus' sight. The windows of the large structure were all tinted black, save for one very high up on what looked like the fiftieth floor. That window in the center of the floor looked like it was broken or there was a light on, and it seemed to shimmer in the rain. A gold colored facade covered every spare inch of the building that was not made of glass. The once beautiful gold stone of the building’s façade was faded and darkened by dirt from the filthy air. Even from two blocks away you could see how run down it was.

Between Marcus and the hotel was a string of shops situated as if it was the downtown area of a much smaller town. Most of the shops were deserted and boarded up. One place in particular - within this street side commercial area - interested him. It was the nightclub - or rather, what was left of it, the one that Gemma had mentioned on the phone. The sign with the name of the place was badly burned and torn down, as was the ticket booth, which jutted out of the center of the place. All of the glass windows had been smashed. The whole wooden facade of the place was a cinder. If it weren’t for the concrete walls beneath the wood, the whole place would have been destroyed in whatever catastrophe had befallen it.

This was the place where Brice had performed with his rock band. Marcus had warned his son about performing in such a bad neighborhood, but Brice would hear nothing of it. The owner had promised Brice a huge percentage of the profits if Brice's band could generate enough of a clientele. It was an offer that Brice could not pass on. By that time, Brice had already been mixed up with the wrong people. Brice had been given his chance to play his music on stage in front of an audience. To Brice, that was all that mattered.

The large swinging doors had fallen from their hinges. They lay strewn on the concrete pathways that led to the entrance. One of them had several bullet holes in it. Marcus stepped over the debris and into the nightclub. On the wall to his right was a poster, the edges of which had been burned in the fire. The rest of it was miraculously unscathed. The reason for such preservation lay on the floor. The poster had had a glass covering, which was now shattered and lay broken beneath Marcus’ feet. Brice's rock band was on the face of the poster. It was a picture of them onstage performing. On the bottom, it read, Come see 'The Serrated Edge,' and carve a great time for yourself out of the ordinary. In the middle of the image was Marcus' son. The Brice in the picture looked happy, singing into the microphone. However, his eyes told a different story, of some unknown sadness that tempered his happiness. It was only slight, but Marcus noticed it right away.

What happened to you, Brice? Marcus asked. He touched the image of his son on the poster. Some of the soot from the fire transferred to his fingers. His words echoed a bit within the ruined nightclub but the rain outside drowned out the echoes. Marcus took off his hat and looked at it. So many mistakes, he said. He closed his eyes and let himself listen to the rain for a time. He had to stay calm. Patience would get him through this.

He opened his eyes and looked toward the empty stage. The floorboards of the raised stage had collapsed. What was left of a large piano had fallen through the stage and part of it lay on the floor three feet below. The drum set was a tangled mass of melted plastic and metal. Overturned and burned tables and chairs lay on either side of the dance floor. The bar was a husk of what it once was. The gunshot holes had riddled the half-melted mirror on the wall behind the bar. Spider web cracks stretched from each of the bullet holes. Something tragic had happened here. This had very likely been the brightest spot in the whole neighborhood, and now it was a ruin.

You lookin' for a good time, Mister? a voice behind him said. The voice was distinctly oriental, and it startled him. Marcus imagined a short, and maybe elderly, oriental woman standing behind him.

Marcus turned around. The woman's dark skin belied his perceived stereotyped reality. I'm looking for my son, he said.

If he was here, I'd say you're shit out of luck, the woman said.

He looked at her. Was this Gemma, the woman on the phone? It did not sound like her. Are you her? he asked. Her accent was different from the voice on the phone, but he needed information and this seemed the best way to get it. He was careful not to mention Gemma’s name.

She raised her eyebrows. She smiled, and when she smiled, her parting lips revealed several missing teeth. Mister, I can be anyone you like. Even in the shadow, Marcus could see that she was looking him over, sizing him up. She licked her lips. I am Rai Shinko. I can be anybody. And for - fifty dollars, I can bring your idea of heaven to its knees.

Marcus was silent. He would get nowhere here. Saying too much could cause potential problems that he could only guess at. He wanted to leave this burned out husk of a nightclub, but now this Rai Shinko character was in his path. The subdued gray light from outside shined upon the wet exposed skin of her arms and the unclothed parts of her thighs. She wore long cowboy boots and a short skirt that rode all the way up, save for the very last inch. The light shining on her silhouette gave her an otherworldly appearance. Beyond Rai and the entrance, the play of the light made some of the rain outside seem to hover in midair.

She came closer to him, revealing more of her curves. Spend two hours with me, honey, and you will forget who you are, altogether.

I’m not interested, he said.

I know men, Rai said. One way or another, they are always interested. Her hands were on her hips and she was closer. He could see her face. Even with the darkness of the nightclub’s interior and the shade of her skin, he could still see hints of bruises on her cheeks and under her eyes. It looked like somebody had recently beaten her. Her boss had probably pressured her into coming down here, Marcus assumed. I may not be the best lookin’ girl, Rai continued, but I have all the right moves when they count the most.

Marcus felt sorry for her. It was possible, though improbable, that he may have been assuming too much. A part of him wished he had money on him, maybe just to placate whoever was pressuring her to sell herself. I don’t have any money, he said.

You’ve come to find your son, Rai said, and you have no money to bargain with? With fifty dollars, I might have been able to say more than I have … She gave him another smile. She looked him over again. … along with a few … bonuses.

She was still barring the way. Wheels were turning in his mind. He had to move on from this place. This woman could alert her boss or some other nefarious person about his presence. He had no weapons, but he did not intend to harm anyone. He was going to think his way out of this, and any other situation that would come up. He had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

So who is this girl you are looking for? Rai asked.

Girl?

You said to me, ‘Are you her?’ That means you are looking for a girl, Rai said.

She was a little closer now, just two feet away. He caught the scent of perfume that the rain outside had failed to wash away. He could see disappointment in her eyes. Somehow, she believed him that he didn’t have any money, or did she? Something about her wasn’t adding up.

Marcus knew that he did not look like he belonged here. He was too well groomed, and too well dressed. He looked like he had money, more than anyone who belonged in this part of the city. He would not fit in here. She must have seen him from a distance, and followed him because he was too visible.

You need to turn back, Mister, Rai said. You do not belong down here. Everyone will know it.

Her words were almost exactly copying his thoughts, sending a new chill through the cold skin of his arms. I need to find my son. I will not leave until I have him, he said.

And who be your son? she asked him.

He tried not to glance at the poster on the wall and at the image of his son Brice in the center of it. He did not answer. Whether she knew it or not, the result was the same. She stepped aside. Rai Shinko looked past him toward the stage. She no longer blocked his way back outside.

It was a shame what happened here, you know, Rai said. She looked into his eyes. Her face was no longer in the shadows. He had been mistaken about her. He was not seeing disappointment in her eyes. It was sadness. Rai looked past him at the picture of Brice. Marcus followed her gaze. That singer there, She said, pointing to Marcus’ son. He was a bright light in the darkness. He brought hope. He was a good singer. He was fearless with his songs. And he was a fool and wasn’t afraid to let us all see it.

Did she know that Brice was Marcus’ son? If she was trying to get information out of him, she was very good. She might have been one of the ones who had sought to harm his son. Was she trying to confirm Marcus’ identity then? This could be bad. Marcus did not look at her. A simple look might expose his mission. He had to think fast and come up with something to say that would enable him to walk away peacefully and without her alerting anyone. He couldn’t take a chance and trust just anyone, not this easily.

She reached behind him and patted his behind. She sighed. No wallet, she said. She patted the other pockets of his soaked jeans. No wallet there, either. Shame. It would be a shame to let such a pretty man go to waste. Then Marcus looked at her. She raised a single finger and smiled again. I don’t give free-bees. Her hands went to her face as if she was presenting her face in a picture frame for him to see for the first time. Not even with a black and blue face. She knew he wasn’t interested. She was joking with him now.

It’s been nice, Marcus said, but I have to go. He started walking out of the nightclub. His hat started making pitter-patter noises as he emerged back into the heavy rain.

You will die, you know, Rai Shinko yelled out to him. We are all going to die, with the world at its end. But, for what it’s worth, I hope you find your son. Dying with family is better than dying alone.

Chapter 2 -- THE TOWER IN THE RUINS

It was noon. Fear and care slowed Marcus' progress.

The great, dilapidated hotel loomed overhead like a monstrous hand, its lengthy arm sprouting from the concrete ground, ready to crush the surrounding neighborhood. Marcus looked up through the falling rain to the lone shimmering window, the one with the brightest light. The closer he got to the building, the more it seemed something was not quite right about it. It wasn't the shimmering light itself. It was how the image of it seemed to shift, as if it was not real.

Three brothers had invested in its development. They had named The Three Sparx Hotel after their last name, Sparx. Since then, all three of those brothers had met with premature deaths, two from auto accidents, and the third from a drug overdose. The rest of their family refused to claim ownership of the building. They gave the deed to the city, for they wanted no more part in it, even though the three Sparx brothers had invested billions in its construction.

Abandoning it was a good thing for them, too. Almost as soon as construction finished and it opened for business, the place went from a luxury establishment to a magnet for the area’s criminal elements. The three deaths of the founding Sparx brothers hung over the place like a curse.

Marcus wondered if the place had been constructed for other reasons. After all, who would put a multi-billion dollar one hundred-story building in the middle of a slum?

Marcus walked through a chain link gate. It squeaked with such a volume that anyone in the area should know of his presence. Everyone in the area probably already knew of his presence, though, thanks to Rai Shinko. If the hooker had a cell phone, she very likely called someone about him when he had left the burned out nightclub. Did she know that Brice was his son? Probably. Marcus couldn't trust anyone, not even the woman who had called him on the phone, Gemma.. This could be a trap. Gemma - if that was her real name - could have called him just to lead him down here.

The children's merry-go-round was spinning. The rain dripped off it, outward, at an accelerated pace because of its spinning.

Then there was the issue of the nightclub. That place had been Brice's hangout. The nightclub was now in ruins. Some of the burned and broken equipment on the stage had probably belonged to Brice. Something bad had happened there. Not only had the place burned down, but also there were gunshot holes in the mirrors, walls, and doors. Marcus had not seen any actual evidence that anyone had gotten hurt, but it was dark inside. Somebody had to have gotten hurt.

The swings of the swing set were swinging as if the wind was blowing harder than it was.

The Three Sparx Hotel was a hundred stories high. Marcus was closer to it than he ever thought he would be. Every one of the windows of the bottom three floors were either broken into, or outward. The wind and the rain blew through the bottom three floors, only impeded by the massive columns of the interior structure. It was as if a cold swamp had invaded the foundations of the structure. Marcus imagined the basement levels flooded. If any generators were down there, they were likely disabled by the flooding. Still, some of the floors looked lit. The brightest window was the shimmering one that he had seen before. It looked to be on the fiftieth floor. The closer Marcus got, the more otherworldly it looked. The lower he looked down the length of the building, the worse it looked. The ground floors were in such bad shape that Marcus half-expected the huge structure to topple over at any moment and envelop the city with the chaos of its destruction. Even though all of the windows on the ground floor were gone, Marcus still had to enter through the lobby. The structure of the place required it, raised as it was from the walkways that wound around its perimeter. If any other doors existed, they were either locked or barricaded in some way.

Marcus stopped at the edge of the playground. Beyond that were the hotel's parking lot and the extensive rest areas surrounding the structure. The parking lot was full of vehicles in various states of disrepair. The parking lot, never maintained, was cracked and in need of resurfacing. The grass of the rest areas between the parking lot and the building was overgrown and wild, only broken by the occasional sidewalks and benches.

The wind and the rain blew the tall grass about as if all the blades were all the wimps of the world, all come to suffer, all in one place.

A dead body lay in front of him. It was fresh and had not gathered any flies yet. It was so well hidden in the tall grass that he nearly tripped over it. Marcus' heart skipped faster as danger returned to the forefront of his thoughts. He doubted any flies would catch the scent of it in such a strong rain. The body looked crushed, as if some mythical giant had come by and stepped on it on a whim.

Someone stood behind him. His heart beat a little faster.

I heard Zaylen Mancid threw that one off the top of the building, said the smallish female voice behind him. Zaylen Mancid. He's a mean one. She was beside him now. She wore a long grey coat. Her face was hidden within its deep hood. The only part of her that he could see were her hands, which were small and stark white. She pointed a dainty finger at the corpse at their feet. This one, he probably looked at Zaylen the wrong way. She lifted her arms, as if presenting the surrounding area. Firefighters and cops are too afraid of this area. They won't even come here to remove the bodies of the dead.

Who gets rid of them? Marcus asked.

Well, there are those of us who would rather not smell the stench of the dead, the woman said. She then went silent, as if waiting for him to speak. She did not have to wait long.

I am looking for my son, Marcus said. He did not try to see her face, but he wanted to. And I am looking for a woman named Gemma. He was apprehensive about uttering the name, because just saying the name might put her in danger, but he wasn't known for his patience.

They are always thrown from this side of the building, you know, the woman said, ignoring his question. The bodies are thrown out. Always this side. She was a few inches shorter than he was. Her voice suggested cuteness about her, despite the stark appearance of her hands. Her voice suggested other things as well, things that he did not want to ponder or remember.

Marcus looked up and looked at the shimmering window on the fiftieth floor. Was that where they were thrown? But then, the woman who stood beside him mentioned them being thrown from the top, didn't she? Her long grey coat fit in with the surroundings, drab, stained, and worn by time.

Off in the distance, about a hundred yards away, was the hotel's entrance. The entry area was lined with long stone benches under a great metal and stone canopy. All of the benches were occupied by people, all of them dressed for the weather. They did not look to be waiting for anyone, like a crowd in front of a normal hotel would be doing. They were loitering, as if the area were the front porch of their residences. Maybe they were present to screen those who would want to enter the hotel.

Two gangs ruled over the area. Zaylen Mancid led the first gang. Zaylen Mancid was a figure that the authorities could not touch. He resided within the towering hotel, but none of the authorities who ventured within to find and arrest him ever returned. A man known only as The Maker led the other group. Many believed that The Maker’s followers were a shadow gang within Zaylen’s own gang. Marcus wondered to which gang the people at the entrance belonged. Wisps of smoke rose from many of them at random. At any moment, Marcus surmised, they would spot him, and maybe his mission would come to a swift and premature failure.

Zaylen Mancid rules over this building and almost everything inside, the woman in the grey coat said. He rules over the surrounding area as well. He has little respect for the living. More than anything, though, he has power over the people. He is the closest thing that this part of town has to a government. The woman still did not look at him, her face still hidden deep within her hood. They don’t see us yet, she said, indicating the people at the entrance. Follow me. She started walking toward the end of the hotel’s side.

Where are you taking me? Marcus asked as he started following her. Her exposed hands suggested that she was as thin as a rail and had never been in the sun, or maybe even that her skin had been bleached. As he walked behind her, he looked at her form, though it was covered by her long coat. In the rain, and though covered, he could still make out the slight feminine curves of her body. How old was this woman? He kept thinking that she was taking him further into even more dangerous territory. It was only a slight thought, now, but it was enough to cause his heart to beat faster than it had been.

You ask too many questions, she said. Your questions reveal your fears and your motives. Keep them to yourself. We just need to be out of sight for a few minutes. Her voice was stern, like that of a schoolteacher trying to quell a student’s self-doubt.

You are her, aren’t you? he asked.

She stopped, but she did not turn around. Do you want to find your son, or not? she asked.

More than anything, Marcus said. Did this prove that this was Gemma, the woman he had spoken to on the phone? They were out of sight of the people at the entrance now. Marcus stood behind her. He wanted to see her face, but he didn’t want to anger her, for she clearly didn’t want him to look upon her. He didn’t want her to stop helping him, if she was indeed helping him.

She stood silent in front of him, unmoving. The rain was finally tapering off, and the last of it was dripping off her hooded coat.

Have you ever seen a monster, Mister Tristan? she asked finally.

The question took him off guard. Was this some sort of trick? What kind of monster?

She was silent again. The only thing he heard was the breeze blowing past his ears. The woman bowed her head as if she was trying to find an answer, as if Marcus had countered her trick question with a trick question of his own. After a full minute of awkward silence, she spoke.

There are monsters about to be unleashed upon the world, she whispered. He hardly heard her and swiftly wondered if he heard her correctly. It doesn’t sound real, does it?

Monsters, Marcus muttered.

The woman - who might or might not be Gemma - pointed toward the playground that Marcus had walked through. You see how the swings swing and the merry-go-round goes around as if some kids were playing, yet nobody is present? How would you explain such a thing?

The wind? The answer was so obvious that he thought it made him sound idiotic, or maybe that it made his companion sound that way. He did not want to consider things that were not real, but some strange feeling deep down hinted that maybe this conversation would turn toward that direction. He chuckled nervously for a bit.

There is a spirit world where monsters are born, Mister Tristan, the woman said. Have you ever seen rain hover?

He was taken aback, almost shocked. He thought that he had, when he had talked with Rai, when he had looked past her from within the entrance