Judgment

by Carey Baldwin

  Together, he and the giant climbed to their feet, the gun still glued to his forehead. “You’re the boss.”

  As soon as he heard the acquiescent words, Spense went for the gun, not giving the giant so much as a split second to change his mind. The man’s guard was down, and his hand was relaxed. Spense pinched the nerves in the man’s wrist, simultaneously slamming his knee into his groin. The gun thudded to the ground, and Spense lunged for it. The familiar cold of his trusty Glock molded itself to his hand as he rolled onto his back, just in time to see the giant leap for him. Pistol pointed at the giant’s chest, Spense squeezed the trigger hard. Blood exploded into the air like he’d fired on him with paintball ammo. Spense rolled out of the way just before the massive body fell. The giant hit the ground with a thunk hard enough to make the earth rumble beneath them.

  Ears ringing from the shots, Spense jumped to his feet and strode to the sobbing girl. They were getting out of this hellish maze now. He flashed his creds and reached out his hand. “I’m FBI. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  CAITLIN HADN’T ARGUED when Spense told her to go on without him. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, and her hands finished in painfully clenched fists, but she hadn’t uttered a single word of protest. As hard as it was to leave him behind in this tinderbox of a maze, she knew the truth. He was absolutely right—­she’d only be in the way—­just one more person whose welfare he’d put ahead of his own. And that would surely cost him time, or worse, it might even cost him his life. So as Spense raced toward the screams, she turned her back and ran the opposite way, barreling down the paths she believed would lead her out of the maze.

  At first it was easy. Despite the low light, her memory served her well. On the way in, they’d tread carefully, and she’d made it a point to look for landmarks—­broken areas in the corn, a discarded beer bottle, and the like. But after a while, the descending night seemed to blend everything into one homogenous pattern. She was running through a tunnel of darkness—­like the one in her dreams—­and that old feeling of panic clutched at her throat. Slowing her pace, she tried to control her breathing, tried to focus on finding her way instead of on the pounding of her heart. Then she hit another blind end and noticed that the smell of gasoline had gotten much stronger.

  What the deuce?

  This was wrong. The smell should be disappearing. She’d been running at least twenty minutes. And that was longer than the time they’d spent walking into the maze. There was no denying it anymore.

  She was lost.

  She stopped running and noticed the tightness in her legs and the hard spasms in her left flank. Maybe it was better to slow down anyway, before her body shut down and made that decision for her. Doubling over to catch her breath, she pulled the map from her pocket and opened it. The map was old and the markings faded. Straightening, she brought the paper close to her face. No matter how hard she squinted, the old Xeroxed map was too faint to make out. She pulled her cell from her pocket. No bars—­she’d expected that, but she could use the flashlight feature to read . . .

  Dammit.

  Her heart sank as she stared at the phone in her hand. This was the burner phone Spense had given her. There wasn’t any flashlight app. She folded the map and stuck the useless thing in her pocket, along with the phone.

  Just think, Caitlin. Which way did you come from?

  Mentally, she shook a finger at herself. It was no use thinking like that. She’d gone too far wrong for retracing her steps to work now. What she needed was a new plan and a point of reference—­one that wouldn’t disappear in the darkening night or be obscured by the tall stalks of corn. She looked up and saw the stars twinkling overhead. She remembered her father taking her out at night and showing her how to find the North Star by using the pointer stars in the bowl of the big dipper. She found the pointers and drew a line to the North Star. Like Spense always said, sometimes the best solution to a complicated problem is the simplest. Now she had her point of reference, so even if she wound up in the center of the maze, there were two exits and eventually, she’d find her way out. Just keep heading in one direction. That’s all you have to do. That, and breathe. She let out a relieved sigh and walked to the next fork in the path. Keeping the North Star ahead of her, she took the left alley.

  Another dead end.

  Pop. Pop.

  Gunfire!

  Her heat leapt in her chest, and she whirled around. She had no idea where the shots had come from. Pressure built in her lungs until it felt as if they would explode. Her legs trembled beneath her like they couldn’t bear the weight of her body much longer—­and this was exactly why Spense had cut her loose. She slammed her fist into her thigh. She refused to let fear cripple her.

  Don’t think about the gunshots.

  Focus on getting out.

  There had to be a way. Maybe she should go off trail and fight her way through the tall corn, just bushwhack it. Then she spotted it, a small opening in the maze leading to a trail she’d missed before. A trail that would keep her headed in the right direction. Squeezing between the corn stalks, she followed the path and noticed it was broader and flatter than the others. This must be the road that led to the center. The center wasn’t where she wanted to go, but the way out might be clear from there. And at least now, she could keep her bearings. The moon started to rise, illuminating her path, and relief lifted her spirits. She felt almost giddy. Rounding the corner, sure enough she found herself in the center of the maze. Then a thunderclap of dread struck her in the chest.

  For there sat Louisa Baumgartner, bloodied and caked in dirt, cradling her son’s head in her lap, and he, Junior, looked . . . dead. Louisa seemed to spot Caitlin at the exact moment Caitlin saw her. Both women froze, and time lost all linearity. It sped up, then slowed down and changed course altogether, expanding, giving Caitlin all the time she needed to think—­but soon, she knew it would cut her off at the knees.

  Better act now.

  Her Ruger was holstered at her ankle, concealed by her jeans, but she didn’t dare bend to retrieve it. Grateful for the moon, and the fact her eyes had finally accommodated to the low light, she scanned Louisa’s hands and the surrounding area checking for weapons . . . and found them.

  Louisa held a bright red gun that had to be a flare, and beside her lay an open box containing what looked to be syringes and Tasers. Someone had come prepared.

  But for what?

  Louisa’s platinum hair was coarse and tangled from sweat and wind. Twisting trails of white flesh streaked through the dirt and blood on her face, clear evidence she’d been crying though her eyes were dry enough now. Her expression seemed hard . . . and desperate. The woman to whom appearances were everything now seemed to have nothing left at all.

  The thought stopped Caitlin’s breath.

  There’s nothing more dangerous than someone with nothing to lose.

  With a shaking hand, Louisa pointed the flare gun at Caitlin. “Don’t you dare judge me, Caitlin Cassidy. Don’t you dare.” Her hand lifted, and Caitlin thought again of going for her Ruger. She’d heard of flare guns being used as weapons, and it was possible Louisa meant to shoot her with it, but the worst danger in this gasoline-­soaked maze was fire. Louisa’s weapon was every bit as deadly as Caitlin’s.

  Deciding to chance it, she eased down, holding her breath. Slowly, she clasped her pistol and drew it from her ankle holster, then straightened. The gun was so small it was almost entirely hidden in her hand. Almost.

  Strangely, Louisa smiled. “Go ahead and shoot me. I really don’t care anymore. And I’d like to be the one to bring little Miss High-­and-­Mighty down to the level of the rest of us sinners. You think you’re better than me and my boy—­you think I don’t know that? Even when you were a kid, you acted like you were nicer, or smarter, or I don’t know what.”

  The air was thick with fumes and heat and the smell of blood. Juni
or was dead, and Louisa was talking nonsense. Could some old resentment harbored against a teenage girl really be uppermost in her mind at a time like this? Caitlin almost laughed but caught herself. That would surely make things worse.

  Louisa waved her gun around. “You think you know everything, but you don’t know nothing. You are white trash, young lady. And your father, your father was a stupid, stupid man. What kind of moron confesses to a crime he didn’t commit? Your father destroyed my family.”

  Louisa was talking crazy. Even her grammar was devolving. And though Caitlin had always sensed the woman lacked empathy, always known Louisa cared most about how any problem impacted her, the realization that this vile woman blamed Thomas Cassidy for her own problems made Caitlin dizzy.

  “If good old trusting Tom hadn’t been such an easy mark, Harvey would never have killed Gail Falconer and none of the others either.” She leered sideways, her voice drunk with bitterness. “Every last one of those girls would be alive if only there hadn’t been a first. Harvey wanted to hunt a long time before he ever did. He was always too scared of getting caught until he found your father. And then, suddenly, it was all too easy to get away with murder. All we had to do was pretend to be good Chris­tians and you pitiful Cassidys leapt at the chance to socialize with us.”

  Caitlin’s pulse bounded everywhere, her wrists, her ankles . . . her trigger finger. Hate shivered down her spine, then wracked her body with tremors.

  So it was true. Harvey Baumgartner murdered Gail Falconer.

  And Louisa had known all about it. Caitlin straight-­armed her Ruger, aiming it at Louisa’s chest. “You knew.”

  “Of course I knew. I helped Harvey set your father up to take the fall. I helped him put Gail’s blood and hair in the trunk of your father’s car. And that anonymous phone call, the one your father claimed he got that night, telling him your mother’s station wagon had broken down on campus . . .”

  “Harvey made that call?” She couldn’t breathe. Her chest was so filled with rage, there was no room left for air.

  Again, Louisa laughed. “You’re as stupid as your old man. I made that call. And I chose Gail for Harvey’s first kill. I was trying to be a good little wife, you see, not that it did me any good.”

  Caitlin’s breathing resumed, and her hand went rock steady. Somehow, her rage had changed to calmness—­deadly calmness. “Why are you telling me all this? I’ve got a gun pointed at you, and all you’ve got is that flare.”

  “A flare in a corn maze ready to ignite? I’ve got everything.” She slipped Junior’s head off her lap.

  His skin was reddened, and Caitlin realized it must’ve been cyanide. Louisa had poisoned her own son. She wouldn’t hesitate to make good on her threats. And if she set fire to the maze, who knew how many would die? Had Spense found the girl yet? Had they made it out alive? Louisa really did hold all the power. Caitlin’s Ruger was useless as a threat because Louisa wanted to die. She was just too weak to do it herself. Apparently, she only had the guts to kill other ­people. The hate that had been building inside Caitlin for fifteen years changed to a whisper in her head:

  Go ahead, Caitlin. Help the woman out.

  “The only way you are going to leave here alive, my dear, is to shoot me. If you don’t, I fire my flare, and the whole place goes up. You’ll never find your way out before the flames or the smoke gets to you. So what are you waiting for? Kill me now before I change my mind and shoot you first.”

  “You think I won’t do it.” She took a step closer, and Louisa didn’t flinch.

  “I want you to do it. I’m the one with all the power now. I’m the one who pulls the strings and makes the puppets dance.” She spit on the ground. “I’m the Man in the Maze now, not Harvey. And you will shoot me. Because you’re just the same as the rest of us. All your pretty words about justice and playing fair. Let’s see what you do when you have the chance to get revenge.”

  “You deserve to die.” Her voice sounded eerily steady to her own ears, and her words had the ring of truth.

  “Now you understand. You want justice for your father? Then reach out and take it. All you have to do is come down off your high horse and get your hands dirty.”

  Caitlin’s finger squeezed the trigger, ever so slightly. She’d have to pull hard to fire the first round. Just a little more pressure, and the woman who had lied, who had held her mother’s hand in church at her father’s funeral would be obliterated from the earth. It would be so easy to claim self-­defense. No one would question her. Her mouth twitched in anticipation. Louisa was pointing a flare at her chest. It really would be self-­defense.

  Louisa rose to a stand and raised her flare gun. “You can do this, Caitlin. Just show the world, show yourself, your true colors.”

  “I want to know everything, first. You want me to kill you, then you tell me why you set up an innocent girl to be raped and murdered and an innocent man to take the blame.”

  “It was them or me.” She shrugged as if anyone would’ve done the same. “Harvey hit me. And he choked me to get himself off. He always used a cloth to protect my skin so the marks wouldn’t show, and when he punched me, he made sure he got me in the stomach or the back. Once, he decided to punch me in the chest, and my implants burst.” She started to laugh, a hysterical laugh. “Cost him thousands to fix these beauties. You better believe that was the last time he got me there. My husband was a sadist, sweetheart, and not the pretty kind like the ones in books who give you a safe word. He was the kind who can’t get off until he hears you screaming in agony. So when he decided he wanted to hurt other women, I was all for it. Like I said, it was them or me.” She jerked the flare gun. “So don’t you goddamn judge me, you little piece of trash. I had no choice, and now you don’t either. You want justice for your father. Here’s your chance. I didn’t have any choice, and now you don’t either.”

  Justice for her father.

  Someone had to pay for his life, and for Gail Falconer. For all those girls. Caitlin’s heart beat out a slow and steady rhythm. A countdown to Louisa Baumgartner’s death.

  One.

  Two.

  She wagged her pistol at Louisa like Louisa had wagged the flare at her. “On your knees.”

  Louisa slowly got to her knees, pointing her flare off to the side. “I didn’t have a choice, and neither do you.”

  “You had a choice, Louisa. You could’ve gone to the police.”

  “I was too scared . . . and even if I wasn’t, I had a baby and no job. Without Harvey, I’d have had nothing.”

  Her finger felt heavy on the trigger. “You wanted Harvey’s money. That’s why you stayed.”

  “Sure, honey. I’m a greedy bitch. So just do it already.”

  Caitlin aimed the Ruger, her heart resuming its countdown.

  One.

  Two.

  She squeezed the trigger, releasing all the tension in her body with one long slow, deliberate pull. Her arm jerked from the recoil of the gun, and a loud boom reverberated through the air as ears of corn exploded, sending dried kernels spewing into the air, and falling around them like confetti. She was a decent shot, and she’d hit the mark she’d intended.

  “You chicken-­shit little bitch.” Louisa’s arm jerked up. “Now we’re both going to die in a cornfield.”

  As Caitlin jumped on top of her, she heard the whiz-­bang of the flare going off, and Louisa’s hysterical cackle. Then other sounds, the crunch of her shoulder hitting the ground, and a sickening tearing coming from inside her. Excruciating pain ripped through her left side, and her vision went gray. Blood leaked onto her shirt where her old wound had torn open. A wave of nausea rolled through her, and she heaved up bile. For a split second, her arms went limp. Louisa seized the chance to flip on top of her and wrench her wrist backward, jerking the gun from her grasp. Somehow, Caitlin managed to get one knee up and kick out hard. Her foot landed
on Louisa’s hand, sending the Ruger flying into the night. Where was the flare gun?

  Louisa growled and closed both hands around Caitlin’s throat. She must have dropped the flare when Caitlin jumped on her. Caitlin bucked her body but couldn’t get out from under.

  “You can’t hurt me, sweetheart. I’ve been through much worse than anything you or that girl can do. But I wonder about your pain tolerance. You seem all done in from just a little scuffle.” Louisa’s hands were like steel, slowly clamping tighter and tighter around her throat. “How does that feel, dear?”

  Like everything was falling away. Like a curtain was closing over her brain. Her arms went numb, and her fingers tingled from the lack of oxygen. She forced herself to wiggle them and felt something cold at the very tips. She closed her eyes, pretending she didn’t have any fight left in her and stretched her arm until it felt like a rubber band ready to snap back. She had no idea if the object just beyond her reach was a rock or the flare or . . . her fingers tugged it closer, but Louisa didn’t seem to notice. She was too busy strangling her. Using her last ounce of will, Caitlin allowed her body to submit to the choking, all the while slowly inching the object closer. Her hand gripped it hard, and when she was certain of what she had, she raised the object and pressed it into Louisa’s side.

  Louisa screamed, and her body twitched, her hands released Caitlin’s throat. Caitlin Tased her again. And again. Finally, Louisa fell onto her back, and Caitlin grabbed the rope from the box and secured her wrists and ankles.

  Louisa moaned and opened her eyes.

  “You made your choice, Louisa, and I made mine. You and I are not the same.”

  “We are. You’re going to leave me behind, aren’t you?”

  If only she could leave her behind. Caitlin’s body was bruised and bleeding, both her legs and arms were watery and weak, but there were thick black clouds of smoke rising in the distance. It wouldn’t be long before the fire blazed out of control. It wouldn’t be long before it reached them. She could try dragging Louisa out, but that might be even more difficult than carrying her. At least the woman was thin.