Bad Games

34



Amy Lambert and Lorraine Mitchell were both close to experiencing a full-body cramp. The tight bundles they’d wrapped themselves into had been taut throughout their wait, however the jingle of Norman Mitchell’s keys in the front door, or the knock and call from a safely-returned Patrick had yet to occur, so the two women had no such intentions of relocating just yet. Fear kept them rooted tight.

“I need to pee,” Amy whispered.

Their conversations thus far had been shared worry and desperate reassurances things would work themselves out, reassurances they prayed they would one day reminisce about: Norman was actually with the kids and just happened to be behind schedule. Patrick searched the Blocker house and found nothing. Or better yet, Patrick searched the Blocker house, found Arty and the man with the shaved head, and kicked the living crap out of both of them before they were hauled off to jail.

“I know, sweetie,” Lorraine whispered back. “I need to go too.”

“Should we try?”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Dammit,” Amy said. “I’m scared and I have to pee. Great combination.”

“At least we haven’t been drinking.”

“Patrick and I were earlier.”

The mention of her husband’s name conjured up his image. At the restaurant, smiling adoringly at her from across the table. Now her kids, laughing and playing with Oscar behind the cabin. Now Oscar. Likely dead. Patrick holding the rifle, his expression of frantic conviction contagious. The man with the shaved head on the porch, pointing a gun, taunting Patrick. Arty appearing, holding the doll, waving its arm, smirking at them. The possibility that these men had her babies…

“This can’t be real,” she said. “This…” The grim images flashed again. “This can’t be real.”

Lorraine’s face turned equally somber. Amy continued.

“I keep thinking I’m going to wake from a dream at any moment, you know? I mean this is the kind of stuff that you see in the movies, not real life.”

“In the movies the good guys always win,” Lorraine said.

Amy glanced at Lorraine, then looked away when she said, “It depends on what movie you’re watching.”

Lorraine didn’t reply.

Amy looked out the bedroom window. The moon was full and strong. She stared up at it as she spoke. “You see stuff in the media about all these horrible things going on all over the world. You see people murdering for something as ridiculous as a pair of shoes. You see the constant violence and struggles in the Middle East, and it’s tragic and horrible, but there’s still a sense of righteousness over there, a belief in what they’re doing. The result is terrible and violent, but the motive is there. Even the man who murders for shoes has a motive. No matter how ludicrously asinine, he still has a motive. He wants the shoes.”

“Amy—”

“You see that’s just it, Lorraine. A motive. There’s no motive here. No reason for this to be happening. These men…they’re having fun with us. Playing with us like it’s some kind of game. That’s not a motive, is it?”

Amy took her eyes off the moon and looked at Lorraine. She didn’t want a response from her neighbor, just an ear so she could vent. But Lorraine responded anyway. And the response frightened Amy.

“Maybe having no motive is their motive. They torment others because they enjoy it. Nothing more.”

Amy fell silent. She saw despair in Lorraine’s eyes and she immediately touched the woman’s knee and rubbed it. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought all this crap up. I guess in some weird way it’s therapeutic for me to talk about it. In retrospect I guess it’s kind of like talking about all the gory details of your impending surgery before they slice you open, huh?”

Lorraine produced a tired but genuine smile. “I suppose that would be a somewhat competent analogy. Although I could have done without ‘gory’ and ‘slice you open.’”

Amy now genuinely smiled herself and rubbed Lorraine’s knee again, keeping her hand there. “Time to change the subject?”

“Please.”

Amy kept smiling. “Maybe when this is all over we’ll all go on a trip together. Somewhere warm maybe?”

Lorraine put her hand on top of Amy’s. “Norm and I haven’t been to Florida in awhile.”

Amy closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall. She took the first peaceful breath she’d taken in hours. “Patrick and I used to rent this amazing place in Clearwater before the kids were born.”

“Clearwater? Norm brought me there once to watch the Phillies during spring training. It was absolutely lovely. Such a beautiful—”

Amy clamped down onto Lorraine’s knee with a sudden jolt. “SHHHHH!”

Lorraine jumped then gaped at Amy. “What?”

Amy’s hand stayed locked on Lorraine’s knee. She held her breath, refused to even blink, afraid the wet click of her lids would impede her hearing. She eventually spoke in a dramatic whisper. “Did you hear that?”

Lorraine pecked her head forward, listened intently. She turned back to Amy and shook her head no.

“The back door,” Amy mouthed. Their previous conversation of vacations and Florida had risen pleasantly upwards into a semi-normal tone. Now it was a minute decibel above lip-reading. “I heard something at the back door.”

Lorraine titled an ear upward, listened again. A light rapping echoed from somewhere outside. A moan followed, low and pained.

“What is that?” Lorraine said.

Amy shook her head.

The rapping was louder now, the moan longer, desperate.

Amy released her grip on Lorraine’s knee. “There’s someone at the back door.”

Lorraine snatched Amy’s hand right back. “Don’t you dare.”

“It sounds like someone’s hurt.” She pulled her hand free from Lorraine’s. “What if it’s Patrick?”

“Amy, NO.” Lorraine’s eyes held panic. “We don’t know WHAT that is. It could be a trap. We need to stay here.” She reached for Amy’s hand again. Amy wouldn’t take it.

“What if it’s not a trap? What if it is Patrick? What if he’s hurt?” Amy’s whisper was louder now, her voice raspy.

“Amy…”

“I’m going to look,” Amy said. “I’m not going to open the door, but I’m going to go look.”

“Amy…”

“I’ll stay low to the ground and out of sight. When I get close to the door I can peek out through the window and get a quick look. No one will see me.”

“Amy, please…”

“Lorraine, goddamnit, if it is my husband then I’m going to f*cking help him.” Amy’s eyes were strong and unbreakable. Lorraine’s chest sunk and she hung her head. Amy leaned in and hugged her hard. “I’m sorry. But you’d do the same for Norm, right? You’d do the same.” Lorraine lifted her head, closed her eyes and nodded. Amy nodded back and repeated, “I’ll stay low to the ground and out of sight.”