Bad Games

75



The silver Highlander headed east on the Pennsylvania Turnpike towards Valley Forge. The sunglasses Patrick wore shielded both the sun and the bruising that was still evident around his eyes.

Amy was next to him in the passenger seat, her hand on his knee throughout the entire trip. She gave it a little squeeze.

Patrick glanced at her and smiled. “What?”

She smiled back, took a deep breath. “It’s just nice to know you’re there.”

He took her hand off his knee, brought it to his mouth and kissed it. “You’ll never get rid of me, baby.”

“I hope not.” She shifted her torso slightly and winced.

“You alright?”

She gingerly patted the right side of her chest. “Still sore.”

He kissed her hand again. “That’s to be expected. Doctor said it would take awhile.”

“How about you?” she asked.

He let go of her hand and touched his stomach. “Still sore. Who would have ever thought two suburbanites like us would be shot and stabbed?”

She chuckled softly. “Not me.”

“At least we’ll have cool scars.”

“I don’t want a cool scar, thank you. A big pink hole over my right boob—I’ll be quite the stunner in a bikini.”

“Thank God he didn’t shoot you in the boob.”

Amy shook her head. “My husband: a man of priorities.”

He smiled and winked at her. She put her hand back on his knee and gave it another little squeeze.

“Well hey, how do you think Oscar feels?” he asked. “Poor little guy got his tail sliced off. How you doin’ back there pal?” Patrick reached behind him and stuck his fingers through the metal grate of the pet carrier in the back seat.

Oscar instantly licked his fingers and wagged his stump.

“He should have been a cat,” Amy said. “Nine lives and all.”

“I’ll tell you what I don’t get,” Patrick said. “Those sickos had no trouble taking the lives of all those people, yet when it came to a dog…”

Amy shrugged. “Not part of their stupid little game I guess. I won’t even pretend to understand.”

Patrick grunted.

Amy reached back and let Oscar have a lick of her fingers as well. “I still can’t believe they found the bugger. I can’t wait to see the look on Carrie’s face when we get him home. I’m praying it helps speed up the healing process.”

Patrick sighed. “Yeah.”



* * *



The symbol of a gasoline handle was lit on the Highlander’s dashboard. Patrick paused before exiting the car and turned to his wife. “You want anything?”

“Something to drink please.”

“Coke?”

“Fine.”

Patrick exited the SUV and began pumping his gas. When he finished he went inside the mini-mart to pay. As he exited with a bottle of Coke in hand, he noticed a man filling his black Volkswagen behind the Highlander. The pump was running hands-free, and the man was leaning against the hood of his Volkswagen, both arms folded, staring at the rear of Patrick’s car.

“You go to Penn State?” the man asked when Patrick arrived. He was a young man who looked to be in his mid-twenties. He was dressed in faded blue jeans and a white sweatshirt. He was smiling pleasantly when he asked the question.

Patrick said nothing. He walked around his SUV, opened the passenger door, and gave Amy her Coke. She pulled the door shut, and Patrick pressed on it afterwards to ensure it was shut properly. He then calmly walked over to the smiling man and launched him clear across the hood of his Volkswagen with a thunderous right hook.

Patrick got back into the driver’s seat of the Highlander and looked at his now wide-eyed wife. He shrugged. “Better safe than sorry, baby.”