Bad Games

39



One Hour Earlier



Arty drove the Volvo Station Wagon towards his mother’s house. Carrie and Caleb were silent in the back seat, Caleb’s eyes getting heavy, and Carrie over the moon, pre-occupied with Josie’s return.

It was imperative that Arty call his mother before their arrival, but first he needed to touch base with Jim to ensure their prior arrangements were moving along as planned.

Arty flipped open his cell phone and dialed his brother’s number. Jim answered on the first ring.

“What’s up?”

“So far so good,” Arty said.

“You call Mom yet?”

“Not yet. I wanted to get hold of you first—make sure things were moving along okay.”

“Everything’s fine here. I’m at Mom’s now.”

“You’re there now?”

“Yeah, no worries though; she didn’t hear anything. I’ve got them fixed up tight in the basement. Lights are all off. It’s black as coal down here. We’re good.”

Arty lowered his voice and said, “Well you’ll need to wait until I can get Mom and the kids into the family room before you try and move them upstairs.”

“But you haven’t called Mom yet,” Jim said. “We don’t have much of a plan B if she’s having an on day do we?”

“I told you she’ll be off. She was spacey when I was there earlier setting up the camera. She didn’t even ask any questions when she saw me running wire through the floor. Kills me to say it, but she’ll be off. She’ll be off.”

“Okay,” Jim said. “But call her now.”

“Fine. If there’s a problem, I’ll call you back. If not, then you know we’re good to go and I’ll send you a text to let you know when you can start moving them.”

“Alright.”

Arty snapped his phone shut and turned to the kids in back. His mouth was barely open when Carrie beat him to the punch.

“Where’s Mr. Mitchell?” she asked.

Arty turned back towards the road. “He’ll be there; don’t you worry.”

Carrie frowned. “I don’t get it.”

“You don’t get what?”

“How will Mr. Mitchell get to the party?”

Arty smiled. “He’s going to drive sweetheart. How else would he get there?”

“But this is his car.”

Clever little bitch, Arty thought.

“I know it is, sweetheart. Mr. Mitchell is going to be getting a ride with Mrs. Mitchell. He’s back there at the cabin now waiting for her to pick him up with a different car. Okay?”

“No—I still don’t get it.”

Oh how he wished he could tell the truth. To watch the expression on her little face when he told her that Mr. Mitchell was very dead. That his bald head was split open like a ripe melon. Would you be as inquisitive then, you little shit? I don’t think so.

“I’ll tell you what, honey,” Arty began, “Why don’t we let Mr. Mitchell himself explain it to you when we get to the party? How does that sound?”

Carrie didn’t answer, and that was just fine with Arty. He treasured the silence for a moment before bringing up something crucial to the game. He spoke slow and concise like a schoolteacher.

“Hey, kids? You’re going to be meeting my mother at the party tonight. She’s a very friendly lady who loves to play silly games.” He shot a quick smile over his shoulder. “Her favorite game is a goofy one where she teases and pretends to be everybody’s grandmother. It’s a game she loves to play, and she takes it very seriously. And you know what the best part is? If you play along I’m sure she’ll bake up some cookies for us.” Another quick smile over the shoulder. “How does that sound? You think you can play along? Because I can tell you right now; my mom makes some pretty tasty cookies.”

“Will she pretend to be my Mommy and Daddy’s grandmother too?” Carrie asked.

“Probably,” Arty said. “She can be pretty silly sometimes.”

Carrie laughed. “That’s funny.”

Arty grinned. “It is funny isn’t it?” He flipped open his phone again, dialed, waited a tick, and then, “Hey, Ma! Guess what?”