Bad Games by Jeff Menapace

Author:Jeff Menapace
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2013-02-18T23:00:00+00:00

34

Amy Lambert and Lorraine Mitchell were both close to experiencing a full-body cramp. The tight bundles they’d wrapped themselves into had been taut throughout their wait, however the jingle of Norman Mitchell’s keys in the front door, or the knock and call from a safely-returned Patrick had yet to occur, so the two women had no such intentions of relocating just yet. Fear kept them rooted tight.

“I need to pee,” Amy whispered.

Their conversations thus far had been shared worry and desperate reassurances things would work themselves out, reassurances they prayed they would one day reminisce about: Norman was actually with the kids and just happened to be behind schedule. Patrick searched the Blocker house and found nothing. Or better yet, Patrick searched the Blocker house, found Arty and the man with the shaved head, and kicked the living crap out of both of them before they were hauled off to jail.

“I know, sweetie,” Lorraine whispered back. “I need to go too.”

“Should we try?”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Dammit,” Amy said. “I’m scared and I have to pee. Great combination.”

“At least we haven’t been drinking.”

“Patrick and I were earlier.”

The mention of her husband’s name conjured up his image. At the restaurant, smiling adoringly at her from across the table. Now her kids, laughing and playing with Oscar behind the cabin. Now Oscar. Likely dead. Patrick holding the rifle, his expression of frantic conviction contagious. The man with the shaved head on the porch, pointing a gun, taunting Patrick. Arty appearing, holding the doll, waving its arm, smirking at them. The possibility that these men had her babies…

“This can’t be real,” she said. “This…” The grim images flashed again. “This can’t be real.”

Lorraine’s face turned equally somber. Amy continued.

“I keep thinking I’m going to wake from a dream at any moment, you know? I mean this is the kind of stuff that you see in the movies, not real life.”

“In the movies the good guys always win,” Lorraine said.

Amy glanced at Lorraine, then looked away when she said, “It depends on what movie you’re watching.”

Lorraine didn’t reply.

Amy looked out the bedroom window. The moon was full and strong. She stared up at it as she spoke. “You see stuff in the media about all these horrible things going on all over the world. You see people murdering for something as ridiculous as a pair of shoes. You see the constant violence and struggles in the Middle East, and it’s tragic and horrible, but there’s still a sense of righteousness over there, a belief in what they’re doing. The result is terrible and violent, but the motive is there. Even the man who murders for shoes has a motive. No matter how ludicrously asinine, he still has a motive. He wants the shoes.”

“Amy—”

“You see that’s just it, Lorraine. A motive. There’s no motive here. No reason for this to be happening. These men…they’re having fun with us. Playing with us like it’s some kind of game. That’s not a motive, is it?”

Amy took her eyes off the moon and looked at Lorraine.

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