Murder In The Maze (Maze Runner Fanfiction)

Chapter 32: Trap

     "How long have you been sitting here?" Minho's voice sounds to my left, sending a mild pain through my head.

     "Eh," I scratch my head.  "All night?  Why, what time is it?"

     He leans to one side, crossing his arms.  Already, he has his full running gear equipped: backpack, water and sneakers.  He shakes his head, "Six, later even.  You know what day it is, don't you?"

     "Tuesday?" I question, rubbing my eyes groggily.

     Minho sighs, raising one eyebrow.  "It's the last day," he pauses before continuing, "with Newt."

     "I know," I state, "that's why I was up all night, thinking."

     "Think of anything useful?" he retorts.

     Pushing my hand against the tree, I pull myself up from the ground.  My bones creak under my weight as they adjust to the sudden movement.  "Yeah, I'm close to catching the killer.  I just have to make a plan, and then, well, it's all or nothing.  If we find the real killer, then Newt will be free."

     "What's your plan, exactly?"

     "I'm still working on it," I respond, scratching the base of my neck, "but I can figure it out; I have to."

     "Piece of advice: be careful.  Killer's not going to want to get caught," he taps his index finger against his temple.  

     Before I have a chance to answer, he glances down at his watch.  His eyes widen profusely.  "Oh, shoot, I'm running late.  Been nice talking to you!"

     He abruptly starts a light jogging pace towards the West door, leaving almost immediately.

     "You too," I mutter half-heartedly as he disappears into the distance.

     Be careful; the words echo through my head.  He is right: even after I find the killer, I can't just confront him.  Still, I need to find him first.  I suppose the first step is finding some way to trap him, but how could I bait him?

     A loud cackle of laughter invades my ears, snapping me from my thoughts.  Already, the Gladers are waking for the following day, their idle chatter filling the Glade.  To the north, a line of people forms outside the canteen.  Smoke furiously bellows from Frypan's kitchen, presumably from breakfast burning on the stove.  The morning breeze carries the stench of seared food towards me: fish, judging by the smell.

     Rubbing my eyes wearily, I begin heading back to the Homestead. My legs possess a slight tremble as I walk. A wave of exhaustion hits me like a ton of bricks; my lack of sleep weighs down on my body, beckoning me to rest. Regardless, I carry on, one step at a time.

     The Homestead grows closer with each passing minute. The lure of a quick nap in my hammock becomes more and more appealing, causing me to quicken my pace.

     Upon my arrival, the door lies open and abandoned. The allure of breakfast has left the Homestead empty, void of people. Stumbling through the door, I head upstairs to my separate bedroom, one of the benefits of becoming a Keeper.

     A dim sliver of light penetrates the stained windows lining the wall and illuminates the room. A slender spider darts across the floor, sending a shock of adrenaline through my body. Taking a deep breath, I continue across the room. The old, rotten floorboards squeak as I step on them.

     Arriving at the far corner of the room, I collapse on my hammock. The hammock creaks and groans with my weight, rocking back and forth. As my eyes grow heavy, the repetitious thought intrudes on my brain once again: saving Newt. My gaze drifts back across the room.

     "How could I bait him?" I whisper to myself, "how could I set a trap for someone without knowing who he is?"

     As soon as the words leave my mouth, another idea pops into my head. "Unless...I already know who he is, or who he could be. A Keeper, he has to be one of them. I would just have to send the message to the suspects I have, something only the killer would know what it meant," I pause, "but what message?"

     In a rushed attempt to get out of the hammock, I tumble to the ground, the white sheet tangled around my limbs. I attempt to manoeuvre my arms and legs out of the sheet, grunting curses beneath my breath. Eventually, the hammock loosens its grip on me as I slip out from under it and fall to the ground with a muffled thud.

     I reach my hand over to my bedside table, pulling a faded leather notebook off the top. A chewed-up pencil falls out of the pages and lands in my fingers. Opening to a random page, I point the pencil towards it, ready to write.

     My mind draws a blank. What could I say that's vague enough so the other Keepers won't know the meaning but still baits the killer? I push the pencil down on the page. "Maybe I could threaten him, push him to reveal himself..."

     Moving my hand, I begin to write. 'I know what you did. My silence will cost you. Meet at midnight where it all began. Come unarmed.'

     "Surely, he won't do the last part," I state, ripping the page from my book. Repeating the process, I write out ten of the letters, enough for all the Keepers. As I fold the torn papers, I take another deep breath. A wave of worry shivers through my gut. This is my last chance before tomorrow; I have to make it work.

     Throughout the morning, I slip the letters to each Keepers' bedroom: Winston, Frypan, Billy, Alby, Minho, Drew, and Arthur. By the time they'll see the letter, it should be lights out, which will mean they won't leave their rooms. That way, they can't tell anyone about the letter until morning, so the plan will happen tonight.

     What if he's not a Keeper? The question looms in the back of my mind. If it's someone else, there's no more time to save Newt, no more chances. Is one shoeprint enough to bet his life on?

     I shake my head as if dispelling the thought. I have no other choice, no more time. This has to be it.

     Once I finish with the letters, I head across the Glade over to the Bloodhouse where the builders set up a new barn. Gally approaches, wiping his head on a dirty towel. "Need something?"

     "I need you help."