Baby and the Billionaire

by Beverly Evans

  "I'm actually feeling something salty," she says as they start away from me. "Do you think the popcorn cart is still open?" She glances over her shoulder at me. "Have fun, Scarlett. Call me and let me know you survived."

  Apparently not.

  The grounds surrounding the attractions are starting to clear out as most of the revelers reach their fear saturation and drift away. All that's left is the people who wandered over on a whim and the hardcore fear junkies. Among them are a few scattered teenagers engaged in the time-honored mating ritual of not crying or throwing up when scared shitless.

  My plan to nudge Jackson and Betsy toward each other might have been thwarted, but that doesn't mean I can't squeeze more out of tonight. I'm genuinely curious to see just how much the maze might change going through it another time. The man standing at the entrance silently gestures for me to enter. His eyes look cold through the thick black makeup he's wearing, and his lips don't even twitch as I approach.

  Ahead of me, I hear screams and laughter as others venture through the tight turns and surprises of the maze. Their reactions guide me through, giving away the changes before I get to them. It's not until I'm in the middle of the maze, my hand pressed to my chest to hold my heart in place after a legitimate shock from a new monster, that I realize I don't hear anyone else anymore. The others have gotten through the maze, and I'm the last one inside.

  An eerie sense of isolation settles around me. My skin pricks up with heightened awareness of everything around me. Remembering the twists and turns I made with the rest of the group the first time through, I go around a bend and find myself face to face with a wall of hay bales. They weren't there before. I know this section. This is where Betsy took off running after realizing one of the actors had been following her for several yards with a large knife. I back up and take another turn to try to make my way through the new path.

  A new monster slips out of the cornstalks and walks silently toward me. He's moving slowly, not making any quick movements or gestures, not making a single sound. It's scarier than anything else I've encountered in the maze or in any of the haunted houses. The intensity and determination in his approach is chilling, and the hair stands up on the back of my neck. I turn away from it and hurry through the next few twists and turns of the maze.

  Until I realize I don't know where I am.

  I've gotten myself turned around in the maze and can't remember which direction to go. They promised a new experience with each pass, and they are certainly delivering. The hay bales keep changing my direction, and new monsters, and startles stop me from thinking, right when I think I know where I'm going. It's been much longer than I intended to be in here. My phone buzzes in my pocket. It's a text from Sylvia.

  Jackson decided he's hungry, and the cookies weren’t enough.

  Meet us at the diner when you're done being ridiculous.

  I've been in the maze long enough. I'll come back again to see what else it has in store, but for now, I'm hungry and want to be done. Except I don't know how to get to the exit. I turn around a few times, trying to orient myself. A man with a chainsaw jumps out at me, and I wave my hand at him.

  "You got me a while back," I tell him. "I'm just trying to figure out how to get out."

  He stops and tilts his head at me, then disappears into the corn again. I turn again, standing up on my toes to try to see where I am. Ahead of me, I see the corn thin. It looks like the edge of the field, with only emptiness beyond it. There's still no other voices, but at least I can get out without getting more confused and turned around.

  "I'm coming in," I mutter, pushing aside the cornstalks to step off the path.

  The shortcut seems to be working for me until I hit a wooden barrier that frames off the maze. Even more twisted around, I turn back and make my way to the path again. A few yards later, I dip back into the stalks and head in the direction I think is the front of the maze. Suddenly, the silence is broken. They aren't loud, but they're there. Voices. Someone is beyond the edge of the maze, which means I'm going in the right direction.

  I follow the muffled conversation, but instead of getting to the front of the maze and the rest of the grounds around the haunts, I find another barrier.

  "Screw this."

  This is no longer amusing.

  Grabbing the top of the wall, I plant my foot in the middle and launch myself over. Hitting the ground on the other side isn't the most graceful maneuver of my life, but I'm out of the maze. Moving around the edge of the corn, the voices get louder. I can't understand what they're saying, but I don't need to. Soon, I can see the people speaking.

  And it's not a good conversation.

  The two figures stand in the shadows, too far from the lights strung around the corn for me to see their faces. But their postures are undeniable. Anger radiates between the two, and suddenly one lifts a hand.

  The angle is just enough for the light to glow on the blade. It plunges down into the other and comes out coated in slick, shimmering blood.

  The first stab startles me. The second shocks me. The third tears a scream from my chest, and I start to run.

  Chapter Four

  Gavin

  The tiny rat skeletons tucked in the corners of the dungeon are a nice touch. Ruby and Beck could have gone full gore with the decoration and put rubber rats among the scattered bones of the human skeletons draped over the stone steps and hanging by their wrists in metal cuffs on the walls. Instead, the rats have met the same fate as those unfortunate souls. I'm particularly impressed by the dried, mummified connective tissues keeping the bones together.

  That's Beck for you. Always in the details. A skeleton without connective tissues wouldn't be able to hang from anything, much less cuffs on a faux stone dungeon wall. Smoke pumping out of a nearby fog machine gives a creepy finishing touch and offers the added benefit of blurring the lines between this and the next set.

  "You seem to have formed a close relationship with the decorations."

  I didn't even realize Beck walked up beside me. White chocolate eyeballs float in a toxic green drink in the martini glass he's holding, bobbing around. He takes a sip through his grin.

  "They're very... convincing," I note. "You really went all out for this, didn't you?"

  Beck shrugs.

  "I needed a good excuse to have a party. Besides, with all this land, I couldn't really just have the party in my house, could I?"

  That's an understatement. None of the party is anywhere near his house. This afternoon a card slipped under the door of the bedroom I'm staying in instructing me to get in my costume and be ready in the parlor at eight. The lack of preparations in the house he shares with his wife, Ruby, and their son, George, should have tipped me off.

  I waited in the parlor, awkwardly sitting in my black cape and eye mask until a man with pale, sunken cheeks and sullen eyes appeared at the door. He gestured for the small group of us to follow him and ushered us outside into a Black Mariah hearse outfitted as a carriage. It brought us far out onto the land and eventually to the party set up across a wide field.

  Calling it a party almost seems ridiculous. The series of tents and immersive sets built up across the dark grass is nothing short of an experience. The dungeon set is at the very back of the party, through a castle, an abbey, and a cemetery. Each has music, and sound effects piped in to create the atmosphere, and lavish displays of food and drinks themed to the surroundings. It's definitely impressive. I only wish I was a more enthusiastic guest.

  "Well, either way, it's good to see you," I say. "It's been too long."

  "It definitely has. You haven't been out here to Shadow Creek at all, have you?" Beck asks.

  I shake my head and take a sip of the murky drink I picked up from a bar designed to look like a pile of rubble in the corner of the dungeon. The distinct spiciness of the cocktail is a pleasant surprise. A nice contrast to drinks that are often far too sweet.

  "Haven't had the pleasure."

  "What do you think of it
?" Beck asks.

  "I haven't gotten to see much of it, but from what I have, it's nice. Quiet."

  He laughs.

  "I guess you don't get much of that in the city, do you?"

  My eyes slide over to him, and I smile.

  "So quickly you forget. I remember a time when you couldn't imagine not getting your weekly dose of concrete exposure."

  "True. But I did grow up here. Now I can't imagine being away from Shadow Creek for more than a few days. I guess a wife and baby will do that to you. Speaking of which…" I cringe, thinking he's going to go the way of the chatty gossips and ask when I'm going to take the walk down the White Satin Mile. It's a relief when he reaches out to gather Ruby into his arms. "Here she is."

  Ruby smiles when her husband kisses her on the head. "What are you two boys talking about over here?"

  "How you managed to turn Beck here into a small-town man," I smile.

  Her grin widens, and she gives him a squeeze around the neck.

  "What can I say? I can be very persuasive."

  "So I've heard."

  "Enough about me, though."

  "You want to talk about me?" Beck asks.

  "Babs," she says. "She got her costume stuck in an animatronic zombie hand in the cemetery."

  I muffle a laugh. Ruby's grandmother has been the star of several stories he's told me about his time in Shadow Creek before he left for the military, and then when he and Ruby reunited. She raised Ruby and her brother Jamie after their parents died and stepped into being the closest thing Beck had to a mother. But anyone envisioning a sweet little old grandmother baking cookies and knitting blankets would be woefully mistaken. She makes cookies, but most of the time, a good portion of the dough ends up eaten from a spoon, and her foray into knitting when Beck was a teenager resulted in a lap-sized blanket with one sleeve.

  But the woman can cook with the best of them and is known for her sass. And apparently becoming part of Halloween decorations.

  "How did she manage that?" Beck asks.

  "Despite my many cautions against it, she went with Marie Antoinette," Ruby sighs.

  "She got the skirt of her ballgown stuck?"

  "The wig on her fake decapitated head."

  Beck rubs his eyes.

  "Gavin, I want to catch up more, but I have a fake head to claim back from a robot zombie hand."

  "Would it be Halloween if you didn't?" I chuckle.

  He claps me on the back.

  "Enjoy the party," he says. "Eat, drink, and be scary!"

  I shake my head as he walks away.

  "That was terrible," I call after him. "Really bad."

  Apparently free from the obligation to rescue his grandmother from the robot hand holding her fake head hostage, Jamie barrels into the room. His oversized gold and brown plaid hat and huge foam rifle makes him look like a stretched version of Elmer Fudd. It makes more sense when his wife Bunny bounds in after him. A gray bodysuit and puffy tail accompany a pair of long gray ears with pink insides. She's dressed as Bugs... Bunny.

  Amazing.

  Admiring the couple as they move to the middle of the dungeon floor to dance distracts me from the rest of my surroundings, and I don't realize a woman dressed as Medusa is approaching me until she is already at my side. Her hand slides along my arm. When I turn to look at her, she makes a hissing sound and swings her snakes at me. Her high-pitched giggle is far more startling than any of the Halloween decorations around the party.

  "Doesn't that look like fun?" she grins, watching Jamie and Bunny dance.

  "They certainly look like they're enjoying it."

  "Why don't we join them?" she asks.

  I shake my head. "Oh, no. Sorry. I don't dance."

  It isn't a lie. I didn't tell her I can't dance, just that I don't. I most certainly can. Bringing out those skills with anonymous women at a Halloween party isn't something that sparks my interest. Medusa doesn't catch the hint and performs a little wiggle, sending her rubber snakes flopping all over her head.

  "I'll help," she says.

  Maybe I can help Babs get her head out of the zombie hand.

  "I appreciate the offer, but I'm going to sit this one out. But you should go. That werewolf over there looks like he's got the music down in his soul."

  She looks disappointed, but glances across the dungeon at a suit of brown fur leaned against the wall. He might be engaged in conversation with one of the skeletons.

  "Really?" she asks.

  "Absolutely. Go help him let it out."

  The werewolf seems to sense her hunting eyes right on him and looks over. He takes a sip from the bright red drink in his hand. It's enough of an invitation for Medusa to make her wiggling way over to him and pull him onto the floor.

  I take down another sip of my drink. Now seems like a good time for some fresh air. Slipping out of the dungeon set, I step into the much cooler night air. The shadowy outline of a gazebo in the distance looks empty and quiet, and I take off toward it.

  Dropping down onto the bench inside the darkened gazebo, I reach into my pocket to pull out my phone. It's been several hours since I checked my email and voicemail, which I think exhibits exceptional restraint. Before leaving, I set an automatic message to reply to any email sent to me, but that hasn't stopped several people from trying multiple times. Responding to a few of them won't hurt.

  I open the first and am trying to piece together the most diplomatic way to tell the sender the idea they just presented so enthusiastically was mine to begin with, but a scream stops my typing.

  Another scream splits through the air, bringing me to my feet. This isn't one of the fun, playful screams that have been coming from the nearby haunted attractions all night. It's definitely not a sound effect from one of the speakers positioned throughout the sets on the party.

  It's a chilling scream of pure terror in a woman's voice. And it's coming toward me.

  Chapter Five

  Scarlett

  I can’t breathe.

  No matter how much I try to convince my lungs to draw in enough air, it won’t go in.

  My heart is hammering in my chest as sheer panic overtakes me. I have to get out of here. I have to.

  I escaped the first man, the one with the knife, but now I’m trapped against this new one. And who knows what he will do.

  He has me firmly by the wrist, and my heart beats against his. The strong arm wrapped around me keeps me from getting away even as I thrash. His intense dark eyes stare down at me.

  "Let go!" I shout.

  "Calm down," he tells me, lifting his voice up above mine. "You're safe. I have you."

  "Those two things don't necessarily have anything to do with each other," I snap, trying again to yank myself away from him.

  The man releases me only long enough to grab onto my shoulders and stare me in the face.

  "You're safe," he repeats firmly. "What's going on?"

  My head whips around, scanning the darkness for the man chasing me. We're in the middle of a field several yards away from the trees, and I see nothing else around us. My knees buckle, and the man scoops his arm around me to keep me on my feet.

  "He was chasing me," I say.

  "Who?" he asks. "There's no one else here."

  I look into his face again and realize for the first time he's wearing a mask. The strip of black fabric surrounds dark, deep eyes and exaggerates the planes of his face. He's gorgeous.

  This is not the time, Scarlett.

  "He was. He was here." My legs feel stronger, so I tuck them under me again so I'm standing on my feet. "He chased me."

  "From where? Why was he chasing you?"

  I swallow hard, not wanting to think about what I saw again.

  "I saw him murder someone."

  The man's mouth opens, and he shakes his head.

  “You saw him murder someone?” he asks incredulously. “Where?”

  “I was up at the haunts. My friends and I went through with the houses and the maze. I w
anted to go through again, but they left, so I went through by myself. I took a shortcut, and when I climbed over a barrier, he was there.”

  He nods. I take a deep breath and try to keep my voice together.

  “He was having some sort of argument with another man. And he – he pulled out a knife and stabbed him.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” I insist. “I saw the knife, and I saw the blood. I took off running, but he saw me and chased me. I thought I was running back toward town, but I ended up here. He's around here somewhere. I know he is. He knows I saw him, and he's coming after me.”

  My voice trembles. A dizzying, disorienting blend of chill and heat roll up and down my spine. The mysterious man wraps his arms around me.

  “There's no one here,” he whispers. “I heard you screaming, and I came to make sure everything was okay. I didn't see anyone else.”

  “Maybe he's waiting in the trees,” I say.

  The man takes a breath and lets it out slowly.

  “You said you were up at the haunts? Do you mean the haunted houses and the corn maze up near town?”

  “Yes,” I nod. My eyes widen. "We have to go back. We have to tell someone."

  "Come with me," he says.

  I take a step, then hesitate.

  "No," I say, balling my hands up into fists. Just in case. "This is how it all starts."

  He looks back at me strangely.

  "How what starts?" he asks.

  "My Saturday Special Edition episode of 20/20. They'll cast you four inches shorter and me five years younger and a lot prettier. There'll be a lot of dramatic music and, in ten minutes, a slow-motion recreation of my death and recycling into a Halloween decoration," I say. God, what is wrong with me? I am talking a million miles a minute. I still can’t quite catch my breath.

  "Do you know Beck?"

  I narrow my eyes at him.

  "Who?"

  "Beck... Beck Jenkins. I think the two of you would get along. Anyway, I promise I'm not going to turn you into a decoration, Halloween or otherwise. And if you end up being profiled on 20/20, it's not going to be because of me," he says.