Bad Games

31



“Where are they, Lorraine?” Amy asked.

All three sat around Lorraine’s kitchen table, each with a mug of tea.

“They should be back soon. Like I said, the ice cream parlor is a bit out of the way. That’s why I wanted Norm to drop me at home first.”

“And he’s got no cell phone?” Patrick said.

Lorraine gave an apologetic shake of the head. “Sorry. We may be the only couple on the East Coast now without one.”

“F*ck,” Patrick said, to which he immediately followed with: “Sorry.”

“That’s okay, Patrick,” Lorraine said. “Given the circumstances, I would say ‘f*ck’ sums things up rather well.”

Patrick forced a quick smile.

Lorraine sipped her tea and added, “To tell the truth, I’m more than a little unsettled myself. The thought of having horrible men like that roaming around our community isn’t sitting too well with me. Perhaps Norm and I will leave with you tonight—stay away from the lake for awhile until those men are put in jail.”

Patrick nodded hard. “Not a bad idea at all, Lorraine. Although I wouldn’t hold my breath about those men being put in jail. That sheriff is about as useful as a mesh condom.”

“I’ll tell you what’s strange,” Lorraine said. “I’m nearly certain I saw the Blockers only a couple of days ago.”

“What do you mean?” Patrick asked.

Lorraine’s face scrunched with uncertainty. “I thought I spotted them taking a stroll around the lake. They were a good distance away, but if I had to bet, I’d say it was Maury and Lois.”

“And when was this?” Patrick asked.

“The day before you arrived maybe?”

“Is it possible they’ve since packed up and headed back for the winter?”

“It’s possible…” Lorraine began tracing a finger along the rim of her teacup, her mind elsewhere.

Amy asked her, “What is it?”

Lorraine’s eyes flicked up from their trance. “Just remembering something.” Her brow furrowed as she tried recalling events. “I can remember driving back here with Norm a few years ago, a couple of days before Thanksgiving. I’d forgotten a picture album we were planning to show the family. Took me all summer to put the darn thing together and I went and forgot it.” She paused, the furrow in her brow etching deeper, the culprit now mystery instead of recollection. “But the Blockers were still here; they hadn’t left yet. I distinctly remember Norm making mention of it now. He’d said he’d spotted them on their front porch. He wondered if they’d chosen to stay put for the holidays that year.”

Patrick and Amy said nothing, their silence prompting Lorraine to elaborate.

“Some folks around here do that. They’re year-rounders. They don’t mind the cold.”

Patrick went to speak, but as if reading his mind, Lorraine spoke and answered his question. “Except the Blockers aren’t year-rounders. They do leave for the winter season. I know that for a fact. I guess that year Norm spotted them they’d gotten a late start, or, as Norm wondered, they decided to stay put for the holidays.” She shrugged. “Maybe they had family coming to see them. Had their holiday at the cabin.”

Patrick stood from the kitchen table and began to pace. “Okay then, having said that, what are all the possibilities we’re looking at here? I mean, to be brutally honest, I only see two. Either that douche bag sheriff was right and the Blockers did leave for the upcoming season, which would mean those two a*sholes somehow broke into their empty cabin and left without a single trace, or…” He looked at the two women. Their eyes met his gaze for only a second before skittering away, “possibility number two” realized, yet neither woman willing to say it aloud for fear that once spoken it could, and would, be a likely certainty.

To Patrick’s surprise it was Lorraine and not Amy who eventually finished his thought. “…Or the Blockers were still home when those two men entered their cabin.”

“Exactly,” Patrick said without a trace of satisfaction. “And if that’s the case, then the Blockers…”

Neither woman finished his sentence this time, the superstition of voicing fears at its pinnacle when murder was the implication.

Amy stood and walked to the window. “I want to leave.” She turned her head towards Patrick. “Do you think we should go back to our place and start packing so we can go the second they get here?”

“No,” Patrick said. “No, we’re staying here together. When Norm comes back we’ll all head over to our place and pack. Then we’ll all head back here so Lorraine and Norm can pack.” He looked at Lorraine. “I think you we’re right; it’s a damn good idea if you guys took off for awhile. I’m sure Norm will agree.”

Lorraine nodded. “I’m sure too.”

Amy and Patrick both took their seats again.

Patrick thrummed his fingers across the surface of the table.

Amy dropped her head and started massaging her neck with both hands. She stopped suddenly, head popping up. “Do you hear that?” she asked.

Patrick stopped thumping the table top with his fingers and held them up for Amy to see. “That was me. Sorry.”

“No,” she said, standing up. “Something else. Listen.”

The room went quiet. Nobody breathed. In the distance there was the faint sound of chimes.

“Do you hear that?” Amy asked again.

“Bells?” Lorraine said.

“Chimes,” Amy said. “Do you and Norm have wind chimes?”

“No.”

Patrick stood and went to the window. He put a hand over his eyes to cover the glare from inside the house, and squinted towards their cabin. The back porch was dark, but he could still make out the silhouette of something small hanging from its canopy. Something new. He cracked the window and stuck an ear out. The chiming was definitely coming from their cabin.

Patrick’s mind suddenly flashed on the man with the shaved head. His finger flicking chimes on the Blocker’s porch…

Patrick pulled his head inside and shut the window. “Stay here,” he said as he headed towards the front door. Amy went after him but he turned and thrust out his palm. “Stay here,” he said again. She did.

Patrick went out the Mitchell’s front door. He did not walk cautiously to his back porch. He ran, almost hoping to collide with his antagonists. In movies everybody slinks slowly, gives the bad guys time to hide and wait. Patrick wanted to rip the goddamn Band-Aid off quickly. Wanted to run feverishly towards his tormentors, shock them and catch them by surprise as they tried to scurry away after setting their trap.

Arriving at his back porch, Patrick instantly reached up into the dark to snatch the chime. His intent was to rip it down and hurl it as far away as possible, hoping to maybe hear a definitive splash should it reach the lake.

Except he didn’t. Instead, Patrick jerked his hand away from the chime as though it had scalded him. He jerked his hand away because when he touched the chime, he felt something furry.

Patrick reached into his pocket and fumbled for his key. He opened the door, reached inside, flicked on the porch lights, and froze.

It was the same wind chime that had been hanging on the Blocker’s porch.

It was the same wind chime that the man with the shaved head had been flicking with his fingers.

But that wasn’t what froze Patrick.

What froze him was the furry something he had touched. It was hanging dead center in the middle of the surrounding chimes like a rope-handle to a bell. It was a tail. A tail that looked like it belonged to Oscar the dog.