Bad Games

36



Amy slowly uncoiled from her ball. Her legs were tight and cramped and she gratefully extended them outward, rubbing both vigorously to get the blood flowing.

Rolling flat onto her stomach, she then began inching along on her belly. She reached the bedroom door and rolled to one side, straining an arm upward until her fingers touched the knob. She strained an inch further and gripped the knob tight. She managed a look over her shoulder before turning it. Lorraine was wincing at her, as if expecting the turning of the knob to trigger an alarm. Amy brought her head back to the door, gently turned the knob (she heard Lorraine’s breath catching behind her), and then opened the door just wide enough to maneuver herself out into the living room. She looked back at Lorraine one last time. Lorraine stared back with terrible apprehension. Amy gave a weak nod and an even weaker smile, then slithered out of the bedroom.



* * *



Amy was flat to the ground. She slithered slowly towards the back door, using muscles she never knew she had. She stopped, strained both eyes upward, and could now see the window to the back door—about ten feet ahead.

There was another groan, but weaker now. Failing? she thought. Was his health failing? Amy was filled with a dreadful sense of urgency. She slithered faster, desperately trying to resist the urge to pop up onto all fours and crawl to her target.

She was close now. A foot tops. The window was high and to the left. If she timed it right, she could snatch a decent look despite the lack of light. If it was her husband, she would recognize him instantly, dark or no dark.

With a swift but cautious burst, she made the extra foot to the door and propped up onto her knees. Now both feet under her butt in a catcher’s stance.

Rise slowly and ease your head up just enough to get a peak. Just a peak. Strain your eyes until they bleed if you have to, but just take a quick peak for now, then right back down again. Just a quick peak.

Amy rose slowly. Her thigh muscles burned. Inexplicably, she quickly thought of doing squats at her gym back home. She hated squats, and she hated the Nazi fitness instructor that made her do hundreds in class. Right now she would happily do a million and kiss the Nazi instructor afterwards if it meant being back home.

Her head was an inch from the window. She could feel the cold radiating off the pane of glass as she neared it. She could look up and see the black sky.

Another inch. She was level with the window now.

Quick peak.

Amy popped her head up and looked down. Patrick was there. Flat on his back, eyes closed.

Amy jumped to her feet and cried out his name. She unlocked the back door, ripped it open, fell to her knees at her husband’s side.

“Patrick!” she cried again as she frantically checked his body for injuries. She bent over and pressed her ear to his chest. A powerful hand snatched hold of Amy’s ponytail from behind, jerking her backwards onto her butt. The hand yanked the ponytail down like a handle, forcing Amy’s head skyward where she was greeted to a hard, wet kiss.

The man with the shaved head licked his lips and grinned. “Hello again, lover.”