Bad Games

54



Amy was a whisper as she exited the bedroom, gently pulling the door shut behind her with the face of someone waiting for a balloon to pop; not a click or a clank could be afforded with Arty holding her family a mere few feet across the hall.

Her wrists and ankles still tied (there was nothing else in that jewelry box that could cut through her binds; and she certainly wasn’t about to pull the nail file from Jim’s bare balls, lest the pain wake him up), she shuffled softly past the closed door that held her family.

Upon reaching the stairs, Amy decided to do something she hadn’t done since she was a child: she sat on that first step, then slid and thumped the rest of the way down on her butt. However, unlike a child, who would almost deliberately thump their butt as hard, and loud, as they could on each step, Amy’s butt was fine china.

Arriving at the bottom, Amy hopped through the den and into the family room where Maria Fannelli lay in her recliner, asleep, the iPod’s headphones still in her ears—still blocking out any and all noise.

Straight ahead, past the family room, was what Amy was hoping she’d find. It was the kitchen. And in that kitchen would be a knife. A knife she could use to cut her binds, and a knife she could use to make a life-threatening deal.