JOEL

Joel could pinpoint several times in his life where things went drastically awry.

The first time was when he was sixteen. He was expelled from school for threatening a classmate with a knife–an incident which, Joel argued, occurred off of school grounds and should not have counted towards expulsion. His mother was tired of Joel’s rowdy behavior, so she sent him to live with his uncle in Newark. After receiving the beating of a lifetime from his uncle, Joel was put to work.

Joel questioned the decision-making of his own mother, given the shady nature of the work, but it was probably her way of absolving herself of responsibility for her lousy son. It was just odd jobs like “errands” and “deliveries.” What Joel learned during that time was to keep his head down and stay quiet, not for his betterment, but because he learned that being a fly on the wall could open up an information network.

The second time his life experienced upheaval was after Joel had just turned eighteen. A routine “errand” from his uncle turned out to be a sting operation. His uncle, who would swear up and down he wasn’t involved with the mob, had always sent Joel on these kinds of jobs to be a fall guy. Joel knew that much. What Joel learned during that time was how to use people to his benefit.

All it took was a few offhand comments to the mob guys rounded up with Joel that he’d seen the rat meet with his uncle several times before the drop. It was a complete fabrication, of course, but it was going to kill two birds with one stone. The mob guys helped hook Joel up with a class-act lawyer and his uncle–well, the man ended up in a pretty terrible car accident. Joel, unfortunately, was unable to attend the funeral.

The mob guys told him all he needed to do was get his GED and try to act like he was being reformed while in prison–so long as he did that, they’d take care of him. Their lawyers had already gotten him the lightest sentence possible, so he had no reason not to trust them. Joel did as he was told and got out early on good behavior.

As far as Joel was concerned at the time, it was probably the best thing to happen to him. When he got out of prison, the mob guys set him up with housing and a job–just something to keep the heat off him until it died down. In retrospect, he was completely indebted to them. The moment he struck a deal with them, they owned him.

Joel started off doing small jobs on the side for them. Nothing like what his uncle had him do–they knew how to bring out Joel’s strengths and potential. At first, he was just there to make reports to the higher-ups about the comings and goings of the bottom feeders. Eventually, he became one of their youngest enforcers.

It was smooth sailing for several years. Money, cars, women–whatever Joel wanted, he could get it. But familiarity breeds decay. It started with just being sloppy, like not cleaning up after himself on the job here and there. A problem for sure, but one that could be dealt with.

What really screwed the pooch, though, was when he didn’t completely silence someone like he was supposed to. For the third time in his life, Joel was about to experience a shitshow like no other. What Joel learned this time was that there was no such thing as half measures with the mob.

“I’m at the warehouse you sent me to,” Joel said into the phone. He knew they were pissed at him, but they sent him on another job anyway. They’d cleaned up his mess, and it was resolved neatly at that, so he thought that was the end of it.

“Good. Do you see the guy?” the voice on the other line said.

“Yeah…about that,” Joel replied, lighting up a cigarette. The warehouse was completely empty save for himself and two other enforcers that he’d never met before. “There’s no guy.”

“Sure, there is,” the voice on the other line replied. Joel took a drag off his cigarette while glancing at the other two enforcers who had hung back at the entrance. One of them was pulling down the roll-top door. “You’re the guy.”

The call ended as the lit cigarette dropped from Joel’s mouth. He shoved the phone in his pocket and booked it.

There was a high window that looked big enough for him to squeeze through if he could break it. Joel started to climb a pile of empty palettes before the two enforcers pulled him to the ground.

After he was given a thorough beating, they tied him to a chair and left him alone for several hours. He knew that wasn’t the end of his punishment–there were no half measures after all. They just left him there to reflect on things before they came back to finish the job, just as he’d done to others before.

When they came back, they’d brought the boss.

“You know, some people have accused me of favoritism because of you,” he calmly explained to Joel as he pulled a revolver out of a velvet-lined case. The boss opened the cylinder to load it, then flicked it shut. “So, I wanted to settle this personally.”

The thing was, the enforcers hadn’t broken Joel’s legs or his knees…or his ankles…or his feet. They hadn’t even tied them down. It was sloppy, and Joel knew it was because that was the exact kind of thing that got him into trouble in the first place.

With the boss standing right there, he could probably get the jump on him and maybe bash him with the chair. If he was going to go out, he could take him out with him.

But he was just so tired. When the boss put the cold barrel of the revolver against Joel’s head, all he could think about was just the “what ifs.”

“Anything you want to say to me first?” the boss asked. He sounded like Joel’s mother when he got kicked out at sixteen–just oozing with disappointment, not anger. Joel would have preferred anger, taunting, or even glee to that.

Joel snorted his nose, sucking blood and mucus into his mouth. He spat right on the bastard’s Gucci loafers.

When Joel woke up just outside the labyrinth, he thought at first that maybe they must not have actually killed him. He’d heard a loud crack and then everything went black, so maybe they’d popped him over the head real good and shipped him off to Abu Dhabi.

The first thing he did was check his phone for a signal, but there was nothing. He’d heard somewhere that the GPS would still work even without data, but when he opened his map app, it just wouldn’t even work.

After stepping foot into the maze and getting boxed in, he started to suspect he’d been sent to the great beyond. The pleasant, warm temperature, combined with the beautiful sunny day, at least reassured him he wasn’t sent straight to Hell. Or at the very least, the Archdiocese of Newark was way off base about Hell.

As Joel wandered, he came across the skeletal remains of a soldier. WWI and American, from what he could tell from the uniform. The soldier didn’t look like he’d died of something self-inflicted, judging by the fact that his lower half was completely missing, so Joel took it as a sign that he might’ve actually been sent to Hell.

Joel looked at the soldier’s dog tags–he was Private Hamburger, which admittedly made him chuckle. The bolt-action rifle only had one more bullet in the chamber. Joel looked around and saw a couple of shell casings on the ground. In Hamburger’s pack, he had a military-issued mess kit and canteen, a 108-year-old MRE, and a Dear John letter. No more bullets, no gas mask, no grenades or anything else useful.

Joel plopped the helmet onto his head and tucked the letter into ol’ Burger’s breast pocket before venturing forth. Not long after that, he would come across his would-be companions for the next week.

Just a bunch of freaks…

The girl with the animal ears and tail seemed like the most normal one out of the bunch. There was something off about the kids that he couldn’t quite put his finger on–something about their behavior and body language. And the Elf? He decided they were completely untrustworthy from the get-go.

But Joel wanted to get out of this place if there was a chance, so he played along. He kept his head down, though he couldn’t help but run his mouth from time to time, and he used them to his advantage. To him, they all had a role to play.

So when Masha wanted a kiss, he was happy to oblige. It got her on his side. When she wanted to go further than a kiss? Well, after all she’d done for him, he certainly wasn’t going to say no.

But when they were attacked by that Doppelganger, he realized the Elf just wasn’t going to play the right role for Joel.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Joel said, clutching his side as he bled out. When the others rushed off, Peony was about to do the same.

“They need my help,” they replied, not even sparing Joel a second glance before trotting away.

“Like hell! I’m the one who needs it!” he said, gritting his teeth. He pulled the pistol from its holster on the back of his waist and cocked it as he pointed it at Peony. The Elf stopped and whipped around at the sound of it. Joel smirked. “Oh…so you know what this is?”

Peony glared at him. Joel felt like that red eye of theirs was staring right into the depths of his soul. He didn’t like it one bit. Joel kept his finger near the trigger and beckoned them over with the gun. He put the gun up to Peony’s head as they knelt beside him.

“I can’t concentrate if you’re threatening me like that,” they hissed.

“I think you can. Just try real hard,” Joel said, pressing the gun to Peony’s temple. He wasn’t above mutually assured destruction if it came down to it. These were just the kind of threats Joel knew best when it came to getting what he wanted.

Regardless, he was going to kill that Elf once they’d exhausted their usefulness. Joel had finally understood the phrase “patience is a virtue” for the first time in his life. When the Elf failed to save Masha, that felt like a more justifiable reason than any to kill the little freak. He just had to bide his time.

So he followed them at a distance.

He briefly considered sniping the Elf, but Joel knew that it was a stupid, overly confident idea. He wished he still had the damn rifle…and bullets for it.

When they entered the terraces, he heard Peony explain the thing about the Dryads. That meant he couldn’t attack them there, or all those things might dogpile him. He had to keep waiting, but that was okay because they were all leading him to the exit.

Sound echoed in those terraces. Enough that he heard all of their secrets. He knew there was something off about those kids, but he wasn’t expecting that. But it made sense–the girl sat around in that skirt like she’d never worn one in her life before, while the boy seemed to have a feeble air contradictory to his athletic physique. Because they were each other.

Furthermore, what the hell was going on with the Elf!? Their story, combined with their little split personality act, just gave him the heebie jeebies.

When the kids were pointing out some tree, Joel noticed the Elf look directly at him. They were too far away, but he knew it was that same glare that could pierce into your very being. He hadn’t expected their hearing and eyesight to be that good.

After Peony confronted Joel at the entrance to the tower, he knew it was probably going to be his only chance and popped one off.

Joel was even surprised by himself. That timing! That aim! He’d never set out to kill the kids, but they were collateral damage at that point. No more half measures.

He bled from his forehead and nose as he sat up against a mirror. He pulled out his pack of cigarettes. Only half of a cigarette left. He lit it and took a long drag off it before sighing. He knew when he was cooked.

As he sat there smoking the cigarette down to the filter, he heard footsteps approaching. Just one pair. Did the kid feel bad and come back?

He knew the moment he pointed a gun at them that they’d fight back–they’d been fighting for their lives all week–but he had expected that they wouldn’t have it in them to kill a person.

What Joel didn’t expect, though, was to see the Elf he shot point-blank in the face casually strolling up to him–bloody–but in perfect health.