Bad Games

59



“So what are we gonna do here, Amy?” Arty asked. “Are you really prepared to commit murder? Here, in front of your son?”

“I’ll do it.”

“Oh I’m quite sure you could kill me or Jim…” He pointed at his mother. “But an innocent old woman like this?”

“If it hurts you I can.”

“No you can’t—you’re trying to bluff. You had this all worked out in your head already, didn’t you? You thought I’d see my mother with a knife to her throat and break down, give you whatever you wanted, right?” He pressed the gun barrel harder into Caleb’s head, causing the boy to whimper louder. “But I’m not a f*cking idiot, Amy. And I don’t think the way you do. That’s what makes me who I am. It’s what has enabled me to survive as long as I have. That and the love of the woman you’ve got a knife pressed to.

“So, do you really think I’d let you bluff me into taking my freedom away while placing a knife to the throat of the most important person in my life? I won’t let that happen, Amy. And I don’t panic. Ever. That’s why this little prick I’m holding here has a gun to his head. And it’s also why I’m certain that I’d lose no sleep whatsoever after putting a bullet through his tiny skull.”

Amy’s chest hitched as she inhaled quickly, the image painted by Arty’s words nearly crippling her.

“But you?” Arty continued. “Killing a sweet old lady? It’s downright laughable. Someone like you would end up in therapy the rest of their life. Become an addict or a drunk. Maybe even off yourself once the grief sunk its claws in deep enough. How ironic would that last one be?” He grinned.

Amy’s body shook, her eyes filmed with hot tears of rage and frustration. He was reading her inner dialogue near verbatim and filling her head with doubts. She tried desperately to shut them out, but the more he spoke the more his words dented the armor shielding her psyche. Could she kill an innocent woman? Maybe. Would it be something that affected the remainder of her life? Yes, of course it would. But then again, everything that’s occurred these last couple of days would affect the rest of her life. Now was not the time for self-doubt. She had bluffed and it had failed. What lay in front of her now left no other options. Her baby’s life was on the line. Her family’s.

The self-doubt had to be crushed. Arty’s words would need to be treated as fuel to her fire. She would, and could, go through with it if need be.

She repeated this mantra over and over in her head until it drowned out any negative thoughts that might cause her to balk. It was for her son. It was for her family. She would kill ten innocent women if it meant getting her family to safety. This innocent woman was an object. An obstacle. An obstacle that may have to be eliminated in order to save her son and family.

She repeated it again; she needed to objectify this woman’s throat beneath her blade:

She is an obstacle. And I will eliminate that obstacle if it means saving my son and family.

And then again, tears of frustration drying up in the presence of her newfound defiance, her brow becoming furrowed with a purpose:

She is an obstacle. And I will eliminate that obstacle if it means saving my son and family.

“She’s an obstacle,” she said aloud. Her voice was solid. She didn’t blink. “And I will eliminate that obstacle if it means saving my son and family.”

Arty stared at her, his expression different now. Amy believed she had convinced him of her sincerity, of her will and inability to break. And just as he was about to retort with something Amy hoped was acquiescent, Maria Fannelli spoke:

“Young man, I’m not sure who you are, or what it is that you want, but if that little boy is this woman’s child, then I urge you to put that gun away and release him to her before I call the police.”