Bad Games

50



The bedroom door swung open. Arty entered first and pulled the TV cart to one side so that both parents were in plain sight.

A few things happened then as the two children entered the room:

Carrie looked at the condition of her parents and blinked a lot.

Caleb looked at his parents, and then immediately turned towards his older sister to gauge her reaction.

Arty and Jim stepped back and watched the scene with fervent anticipation.

Both Amy and Patrick looked at their children with desperate expressions that managed to transcend the comprehensible limitations of age, instantly resonating in both children with the explosion of a thousand nightmares.

Carrie burst forward towards her parents, Caleb close behind.

Jim and Arty shut the bedroom door behind them and began taking witness to the start of what they’d created. They witnessed the Lamberts struggle desperately against their binds in an attempt to hug their children. Witnessed the children sob and take turns hugging each restricted parent, their innocent faces wrought with fear.

And they witnessed it with a satisfaction few could ever know.

“Carrie?” Arty said. His gentle tone was a whisper among the hysterical cries. He called louder. “Carrie?”

The little girl was in her father’s lap, her arms tight around his neck. She turned her head towards Arty but did not look at him.

“Can you do me a favor?” he asked. “Can you hop off your daddy for a minute so we can push him up against that wall over there?” He pointed to his left.

Carrie turned away from Arty and clung tighter to her father. Arty huffed in a deliberate manner, and stepped forward, grabbing Carrie under both arms and yanking her off her father. Carrie screamed and Patrick’s face ballooned with rage.

“Honestly, Carrie,” Arty said, still with the theatrics. “You really need to start pulling your weight around here.”

The little girl flailed and screeched in Arty’s arms as he handed her to Jim, who took hold of her in a tight embrace.

“Carrie?” Arty called again. “Carrie, please stop screaming.”

Carrie continued to flail and holler. Arty sighed, then drove his fist into Patrick’s face. Patrick grunted on impact, silencing Carrie like a switch. She stared at her father, and then at the man who had just hit him with a look of disbelief, as though Arty had just broken some kind of playground rule.

“How about that?” Arty said to Jim. “I think the kid gets it already.” He turned back to Patrick. “Thank your daughter, bud. She just saved you a few more shots.”

Arty gripped Patrick’s chair, and with a solid jerk, spun him a quarter turn and pushed him all the way back against the wall.

He then glanced over at Caleb. The boy was curled into a ball on his mother’s lap, his head tucked into her chest.

“How you doing over there, champ?” he asked.

The boy didn’t budge.

Jim chuckled. “He looks like a f*cking hedgehog doesn’t he?”

Arty didn’t respond to his brother. He was focused on Caleb. “Hellooooo? Caaaaaaaleb?”

The boy flinched upon hearing his name, but only burrowed harder into his mother’s chest. Amy hollered until her eyes bulged. Her words were more decipherable through the gag now. Patrick’s too. They had grown wet and thinner from the constant saliva and tears, and Amy’s hateful words were gargled but clear. “Leave hin aloe you huckin hastard!”

Arty put a hand to his chest as though insulted. He looked over at Jim. “She thinks we mean to harm the lad.” He returned to Amy and shook his head. “We’re here to entertain the children, Amy. Not hurt. Never hurt.”

Arty left the room. When he reappeared moments later he was carrying a green pillowcase filled with items that appeared heavy enough to stretch the material.

“Hey, Caleb,” Arty said. “Look what I’ve got.” Arty reached into the pillowcase and withdrew a flat rock the size of an egg. “What do you think? You think this is a good one? How many skips do you think I can get with this?”

Caleb’s head popped up from his mother’s chest and he looked at Arty with one eye. Arty stepped forward and held the rock in front of Caleb’s face. Caleb jerked his head away as though the rock might bite him.

“He doesn’t get it,” Jim said from the corner.

Arty sighed. “I know. I guess I’ll have to do the first one.”

Arty tossed the rock gently into the air then caught it. He weighed it up and down in his palm, puckered his lips and frowned as if determining its value. “You know, I think this is a good one,” he said.

Arty gripped the flat rock between his thumb and index finger, positioned his arm to the side. “Caleb, are you watching? Are you watching?” He smiled. “Because you’re going next, champ.”

Arty whipped the rock at Patrick, catching him square in the chest. There was a hollow thud on impact. Patrick’s head dipped as he let out a strained gasp.

Jim laughed.

“How many skips did I get on that one, Jim?” Arty asked.

“I’d say about three good ones,” he said. Jim looked down at Carrie and asked, “What do you think, sweetie? Is three about right?”

Carrie didn’t respond. She wasn’t ignoring him; she was in shock.

“What’s her deal?” Arty asked.

Jim shrugged, still keeping a good grip on her. “Taking a personal moment I guess.”

Arty nodded. “Fair enough. Her time will come.” He spun. “Caleb!” The boy jumped. “Come on, buddy, I’m waiting on you.”

Caleb began shaking, his whole body vibrating on his mother’s torso. Amy’s sobs of frustration changed to venomous snorts of spit and obscenities.

Arty walked calmly over to her and flicked her hard on the forehead. There was a thock! sound, and Amy winced from the blow. “Act like a lady,” Arty said.

Patrick growled behind him and Jim laughed again.

Arty reached into the sack and grabbed a second rock. “I’m gonna do it without you, Caleb. Here I go…I’m going…I’m gonna do it without you…”

Caleb’s reaction didn’t change. Arty shook his head. He flung the second rock and cracked Patrick in the forehead this time, a flesh-colored egg appearing instantly. Caleb didn’t see it, but screamed into his mother when he heard the smack of the rock on his father’s skull.

Arty looked at the boy and shrugged innocently. “I thought you liked this shit, Caleb.” He turned to Jim. “What gives?”

“They’re just not getting it.”

“No shit. I mean come on, little man, who would you rather have throwing these things, you or me?” Arty walked next to Patrick. “Because I can keep doing it if you want, but I think your old man might prefer less of an arm.” Arty dug his thumb into the egg on Patrick’s head. Amy cursed and hollered as Patrick groaned in pain.

Caleb stayed rooted to his mother. Arty threw up his hands. “He’s never gonna get it.”

“Maybe we need to change the rules a bit?” Jim asked.

“How’s that?”

Jim threw Carrie into Arty. He caught her and felt her dead weight against him; there wasn’t even the smallest attempt at a struggle.

It was now Jim’s turn to leave the room. He returned with three knives—two in one hand, one in the other. Each knife was twelve inches long and sharp enough to shave with.

Jim handed the knives to Arty, and Arty handed Carrie back to Jim.

Arty held the knives up for all to see. “You want me to use these?” he asked.

“Sure beats a rock,” Jim said.

Arty touched the point of the blade and pricked his index finger. A drop of blood grew on the tip. He watched the drop grow bigger until it dripped a red line down to his palm. He licked the red line up to the tip of his finger, sucked then smacked his lips on the wound and said, “Sure does.”