New Release Labyrinth by A.G. Riddle

Dan
Oct 21
4 min read

Aerial view of a circular hedge maze in lush green surroundings, with a central dry tree. A wooden pavilion is visible to the right.

Today on the blog, a compelling extract from the best-selling author A.G. Riddle's latest book, Labyrinth.

New Release Labyrinth by A.G. Riddle

Text poster for "Labyrinth" with bold letters. Story of Alan Norris protecting his daughter. Green and yellow background, sci-fi theme.

From the bestselling author of Lost in Time and Quantum Radio comes a new mind-bending thriller: a group of strangers with tinnitus begins seeing numbers - numbers they soon realize are a code that will change the world.

Alan Norris has lost everything. Except for his daughter. And he's willing to do anything to protect her.

The day of his wife's funeral, as he's walking to give the eulogy, the ringing in his ears starts. His tinnitus began when he was in the Marines, the day a roadside bomb went off. Usually, it's a low whine - a tea kettle that never quite boils. But as his prosthetic and his good leg sink into the soggy grass, the ringing changes. That afternoon, the ringing only he can hear sounds like three jagged rocks dropped in a tin can and shaken.

When the rattling hits a crescendo, he sees a series of numbers: 12122518914208.

He assumes it's a stress reaction. A hallucination. He's wrong about that. And several other things.

The ringing and the numbers are a mystery, but the worst part is that when that unseen hand shakes the can, Alan begins to lose time.

A few minutes at first.

Then longer.Until one night, he wakes up next to a dead body.

He could call the police. Or run. He doesn't do either. Because he doesn't know what happened to his daughter during the time he lost, leaving him no choice but to dig deeper.

Alan soon discovers he's not the only one seeing the numbers. And that the sequence is key to a conspiracy with far-reaching consequences. For him and the entire world.

Extract

A person runs towards a bright light in a dark, maze-like corridor. Large yellow text reads "LABYRINTH" by A.G. Riddle. Dramatic atmosphere.

When I wake up, I’m lying on a concrete floor next to a dead man.

He stares at me with glassy, unblinking eyes.

My heart beats faster—not just because he’s dead, but because I don’t remember coming here, meeting him, or how he died.

I do, however, recognize him. His name is Nathan Briggs. We were in the Marines together.

A long time ago.

The last time I saw Briggs, he was throwing a punch at me.

That was right before I threw a punch at him. And then another.

And then the barracks erupted in shouting and fighting.

I haven’t had any contact with him since.

At least, I don’t think I have.

The last thing I remember is being at home and having a bad tinnitus attack. I remember going to lie down, and that’s it. I heard the ringing in my ears.

I went to bed.

I woke up here.

I’ve lost time. This has only happened to me once before: at my wife’s funeral. That day, I lost a minute or two. This time gap appears to be far longer. And a lot more problematic.

I reach into my shorts pocket for my phone, hoping to check the time, but it’s not there. My wallet is gone too. I only feel a car key.

And then there’s what I don’t feel.

Lifting my head, I spot my prosthetic leg lying a few feet away.

Seeing it there, detached from my body, reminds me of the day I lost my leg. That day, I woke up like this—on my back, on a roadside in Afghanistan.

Back then, I saved my life by using a tourniquet to stop the flow of blood from the wound. Every second counted. I think it does now as well.

Moving quickly, I sit up and reattach the prosthetic. My body aches. There’s pain in my abdomen, neck, and back. I’m pretty sure I was in a fight during the time gap.

Scanning my surroundings, I realize I’m in a room in what looks like a construction site. It’s a commercial building of some sort. Maybe an office or retail space. The ceiling is tall, with metal ceiling joists and exposed air conditioning ducts.

I don’t recognize the place or recall ever being here before.

What occurs to me now is that during the time I lost, someone might have lured me here, knocked me unconscious, and killed the guy next to me. That person could still be around—and they could be planning to kill me too. I need to move.

As I get to my feet, I take in more of the room. And every single thing I see is like a bomb going off.

There’s a backpack sitting in the corner. I know that backpack.

It’s mine.

I don’t remember packing it.

I don’t know what’s inside.

The second is a knife. It’s sunk into the dead man’s chest. It is, very likely his cause of death. Like the backpack, it belongs to me.

The third issue is that a series of numbers has been written on the concrete floor.

12122518914208

They’re the same numbers I saw carved into my wife’s gravestone.

But here, someone has written them in blood.

About the Author

Author at a book signing event with stacks of "Departure" by A.G. Riddle. Background has a "Doctor Who" poster. Calm setting.

A.G. Riddle spent ten years starting and running internet companies before retiring to focus on his true passion: writing fiction. He is now an Amazon, Wall Street Journal and Sunday Times bestselling author with nearly five million copies sold worldwide in twenty languages. He lives in Raleigh, North Carolina.