Bad Games- The Complete Series
Page 89
“Why don’t you just kill me?” Amy asked. “You’ve got me; you won. Monica never came this close.”
“I am going to kill you.”
“No, me. Me. Just me.” She then flicked her chin towards Allan and the Rogerses. “Why all the bullshit with them? With the Rolstons?”
“Well, it’s gotta look like a killing spree, doesn’t it? The Rolstons just seal the deal. That and they were the nearest help. That’s called planning ahead, sister.” She tapped her index finger against her temple and winked.
“Killing spree?” Amy said.
“I couldn’t just kill you straight out, Amy. Well, I could, but with my ties to Monica? I’d be brought in for questioning. That stuff takes forever. So annoying.”
“So then what? You stage a killing spree for two houses, and Amy Lambert just happened to be in one of them? Those are crazy odds, Kelly. You’d still be questioned.”
“Very true. Unless I’m looking at the spree killer right now.”
“What?”
Kelly smiled. “What, you think today’s date escaped me? I’m thinking that on the five-year anniversary of the Crescent Lake Massacre, Amy Lambert finally snapped. What do you think?”
“I think you’re fucking crazier than I thought. Good luck proving such a thing.”
Kelly gave a little shrug. “Everyone tied up and dead? The only one who is not happens to be sprawled out on the floor with a single gunshot wound to the head, the weapon in her hand in what looks to be an obvious suicide?” Kelly lit another cigarette. “That’ll be you, by the way.”
Jennifer laughed.
“What about your buddy Tim? You said he’s at Irene’s house right now with my kids. That’s one hell of a loose end.”
“Not if he does as he was told. He’s simply going to pretend to be a friend of yours from group who graciously offered the use of his phone because you couldn’t get through to Irene. He’ll explain that you were going to be staying late and you wanted to say goodnight to your kids. It’s not brain surgery.”
“Irene will never buy it. She’s too cagey. Tim’s a twitchy junkie who couldn’t sell water to a guy on fire.”
“You better hope she buys it. Lord knows what a ‘twitchy junkie’ like Tim would do if Irene puts up a fight.”
Amy chuckled dryly. “This is going to be your downfall, Kelly. You’re reaching too far. This ‘fun’ game of yours with me calling my kids has too many moving parts. If you were smart, you’d kill me quick and be gone.” She chuckled again. “It’s going to blow up right in your fucking face.”
“You think so, huh?” Kelly stuck her cigarette in her mouth and pulled out her cell phone. She spoke as she dialed, cigarette bouncing between her lips with each word. “Why don’t we just call and see?”
Finished dialing, Kelly put the phone on speaker and held it to Amy’s mouth. She then took a final deep drag of her cigarette and let the smoke filter out with her words as she said: “I’d make it convincing if I was you.” She exhaled the last of her smoke in Amy’s face and grinned. “Showtime, baby.”
45
The phone continued to ring in the dead man’s pocket.
“Get back,” Irene Flannigan said to Carrie and Caleb.
She approached the man as cautiously as she would have if he were still alive. And she supposed it was possible he could be. His head was a bloodied, dented mess, and he’d been convulsing dramatically when she’d come up behind Caleb and stopped his assault, but she’d heard stories of men and women walking away from car wrecks, only to die hours later from extensive injuries.
But those had been internal injuries, hadn’t they? This man’s head…
Still, she could not be too careful. Thoughts of his gruesome face springing to life as she rifled through his pockets were constant. She eventually averted her eyes from his face, keeping her focus on the chirping phone buried somewhere in one of his many pockets.
“Gotcha,” she soon whispered and pulled the cell free.
It was a flip phone, nothing of the increasingly popular smart phone variety. The message flashing on the small square of the phone’s front read that it was a restricted number.
Irene flipped the phone open and held it to her ear for a moment before saying anything. She could hear very little on the other end.
And then a voice she recognized instantly.
“Hello?” Amy said.
“Amy?”
“Irene?”
“Yes, it’s me, love. Are you all right? I don’t even know where to begin—”
“Listen, Irene, I can’t talk long. The meeting is about to start again, and I’m going to be running late. Uh, I guess if we’re talking, that means my friend got there okay and you’re using his phone, yeah?”
Irene glanced over at the dead man. What Amy was saying was impossible. Friend? A man who attempted to kill her children? No chance in hell. Something was very wrong. Instinct told her to play along.
“Yes, that’s right, love. He’s in the kitchen now with Carrie. She’s making the poor lad draw her a unicorn.”
A pause.
Then: “Is she? How did the unicorn turn out?” Amy asked.
“Well, I think it turned out rather well. I’m not sure your friend would be inclined to agree.”
Another pause. Then sounds of a slight disturbance on the other end followed by two identical phrases from another woman’s voice spoken back to back, one echoing in the background, the second blaring directly into the phone.
In the background: “What the fuck is going on?” Into the phone: “What the fuck is going on?!”
46
Kelly held the phone up to Amy’s mouth. It rang several times before it was answered. The recipient did not say hello. For a moment, Amy thought they’d been disconnected.
“Hello?” Amy said.
“Amy?” It was Irene.
“Irene?”
“Yes, it’s me, love. Are you all right? I—”
Just get it done. Play her stupid game and wow the audience with your performance.
Just saying goodnight, kids. Mommy won’t be home until late. I love you both very much.
Pretend to fight back tears. Pretend it’s killing you. Play her stupid fucking game. It’s not over yet. You’re gonna kill this little bitch slow. Somehow, some way, you’re gonna kill her slow.
“Listen, Irene, I can’t talk long. The meeting is about to start again, and I’m going to be running late. Uh, I guess if we’re talking, that means my friend got there okay and you’re using his phone, yeah?”
Is that what it meant? Amy wondered. Did Twitchy Tim actually talk his way into Irene’s home without bother? Amy would have wagered everything against such a result. There was more going on here than she knew. There had to be.
“Yes, that’s right, love,” Irene replied. “He’s in the kitchen now with Carrie. She’s making the poor lad draw her a unicorn.”
Unicorn.
It registered almost instantly.
“Is she?” Amy said. “How did the unicorn turn out?”
“Well, I think it turned out rather well,” Irene replied. “I’m not sure your friend would be inclined to agree.”
Amy was not aware of any changes in her face, but clearly something new was there. The subtlest of smirks, most likely. She sure as hell felt like smirking.
Whatever it was, Kelly saw it. She straightened up and kicked Amy’s chair. “What the fuck is going on?”
Amy said nothing.
Kelly brought the phone to her mouth. “What the fuck is going on?!”
“Excuse me?” Irene’s voice was stern through the speaker phone.
“Where the hell is Tim?”
“Was that his name?” Irene said. “He never gave it.”
Amy succumbed to the smirk.
“Listen to me, you old Irish cunt—”
“No—you listen to me. Let Amy go, whoever you are, or—”
“Or what? What possible leverage do you have over me
, lady?” Kelly pulled her gun and jammed the barrel into Amy’s forehead. “Do you know I’m holding a gun to Amy’s head right now?”
“Amy?” Irene called from the phone’s speaker. “Amy, can you hear me?”
“I hear you, Irene,” Amy responded, wincing as the barrel dug into her brow.
“Yes, she hears you,” Kelly said, digging the barrel in harder. “Big fucking deal. I hope you’re smart enough to know that if you call for help, she’s dead, lady. I don’t care if the police kick down the fucking door, it’s more than enough time for me to put a bullet in her head. Are we clear?”
Silence.
“Are we clear?”
“Yes,” Irene finally replied.
“Good. When I have things arranged on my end, I will let Amy go unharmed, and you will get a call from me as to where you can collect her. But until then, you do not call anyone, and you fucking stay put. Take a good look at Carrie and Caleb there…” A deliberate pause. “Do you really want to explain to them how you got their mother killed because you couldn’t follow simple directions?”
“No…no, of course not.” Kelly’s last comment sapped the assertiveness from Irene’s voice. She sounded meek now.
Kelly lowered the gun. “I hope so.”
“What do you—?”
Kelly hung up.
“Told you,” Amy said. “You reached too far, Kelly. Bit off more than you can chew. Eyes were bigger than your stomach.” She looked up. “Wait, I think I’ve got one more…” She then nodded once emphatically and added: “Flew too close to the sun.”
“Amy,” Allan said.
“No, it’s okay, Allan,” Kelly said. “She’s being funny. It’s funny.”
Kelly walked over and stood in front of Allan. “You have kids, right, Allan? Of course you do. I was all over your upstairs. I saw their bedrooms. Where are they tonight?”
Allan didn’t reply.
“At a friend’s house?” She then shook her head. “No, it’s a school night. For that we would need someone like a relative, yes?”
Allan’s eyes twitched.
Kelly’s sparkled. “That’s it, isn’t it? A relative. But who?”
Kelly wandered into the kitchen and stopped at the refrigerator. Everyone in the den looked on, the kitchen a mere few feet from their captive spots.
Kelly began slowly circling her index finger over the ornaments stuck to the fridge. “It really is amazing what a refrigerator can tell you about a family,” she said dreamily, eyes never leaving her search on the fridge.
Her wandering finger stopped on something. “‘Dad and His Deejays,’” she said, touching the magnet. “Very cute.” Her finger continued exploring. Stopped on something else. “‘Aunt Kat and Her Kittens,’” she said, plucking the magnet from the fridge with one hand and removing the traffic violation beneath with the other. She read the violation and turned to Allan. “‘Disregard for Stop Sign’? I do hope the ‘Deejays’ weren’t with you at the time, Allan. Maybe they were with Aunt Kat? Being ‘kittens’ that day?”
Kelly wandered back into the den and whispered something to Jennifer. Jennifer disappeared, returned with a roll of duct tape. Began taping everyone’s mouth shut.
Kelly produced Allan’s phone, showed it to everyone first—nothing up my sleeve!—and then began flipping through its contents, all the while muttering: “K, K, K, K, K—ah! ‘Kat.’” She turned her head towards Allan and smirked. “Aunt Kat, I presume.”
She hit the number and brought the phone to her ear, waiting with a pleasant calm, casually checking a fingernail and frowning at it before nibbling away the imperfection and spitting it at Allan.
Someone answered.
“No, it’s not Allan, Kat,” Kelly said. “I’m a friend of Allan’s. I help run the support group with him… Right… He’s tied up with a few guests at the moment, and he asked me to call and see if Aunt Kat wouldn’t mind bringing her Kittens back to Dad. Turns out he had a pretty rough session tonight and he’s missing his Deejays.” She winked at Allan.
Allan went insane. He fought his binds until his chair fell over. Kelly squatted next to him in his upturned chair and stroked his brow as she continued her conversation.
“Uh huh…what’s that? You did? Well, that’s weird. Oh well, you’ve got us now.” She chuckled affectionately at something Kat said and then replied: “You sure you don’t mind? Great. See you soon.” She hung up, tapped Allan on the head, and pointed at Amy. “Blame her,” she said.
Kelly then got into Amy’s face. “Got any more jokes, Amy? How about the one with the girl who got a widower’s sister and kids killed for no good reason other than being a smartass?”
47
Kat hung up. “Guess who that was?”
Both girls said “Who?” simultaneously.
“That was your daddy. Actually, a friend of your daddy’s. He says he misses you guys and wants you to come home. Is that okay?”
Both girls nodded and smiled.
Kat smiled back. “Well, then get your stuff and let’s get going, Kittens.”
48
Kelly handed Allan’s machete to Jennifer, turned back, and faced the group.
“We’re going to be having some new members joining our group soon,” Kelly said. “So we’ll need to make room.”
She began walking down the line of chairs, stopping before each captive to address them personally. “Amy? Since it was your wit that prompted me to invite our new guests, you can stay.”
Amy tried yelling something through the duct tape over her mouth. Kelly smiled, patted her head, and casually moved down the line to Allan, whom Jennifer had since sat back upright in his chair.
“Allan? Since our new guests know you so well and will likely feel more comfortable in your company, you can stay too.”
Allan too attempted to yell something through his tape.
Kelly shook her head, pursed her lips, and gave a silly little frown. She glanced back at Jennifer. “You think they’d be grateful.”
A laughing, grinning machine not thirty minutes ago, Jennifer now accommodated Kelly’s wit with a pained smile. She was sweating. Her complexion was growing paler by the minute.
Kelly acknowledged her need with an understanding little nod. She held up a finger. Soon, the finger said.
Kelly moved down the line. Stopped between Jon and Karen.
“That leaves you two, I guess. Logic would say I get rid of Karen because Jon here is all but useless. Except his constant moaning is annoying the hell out of me. Putting him down would be a mercy killing for him and my ears.” She glanced over at Allan. “Maybe I let Allan choose. After all, they’re his guests. What do you say, Allan?”
She walked over and tore off his duct tape. He did not wince from the sting, just began pleading instantly.
“Please, just please listen to me…please call my sister back and tell them to turn around. I will do absolutely anything you want, just please call them back. PLEASE.”
“You’ll do anything I want?”
“Yes—yes, absolutely.”
“Choose then.”
He let out an exasperated little cry. “Okay! Okay fine, I’ll choose! But you have to call first. Call first and then I’ll choose.”
“Here’s the problem with that though, Allan,” Kelly said. “If I call them back and tell them not to come, then we won’t need the extra room, and then choosing won’t be necessary.”
“Fine!” Allan blurted. “That’s fine!”
“I don’t think that’s fine. I don’t think that’s fine at all. If we do that, then Amy here wouldn’t have learned her lesson. This is all her fault, after all. The reason your sister and kids are coming over is because of Amy. So, you might want to start directing your anger a little more her way and a little less my way, don’tcha think?” She now got nose to nose with Allan and enunciated the next part slowly and clearly: “You’re…going to watch…your little girls die… because of Amy Lambert’s…big fucking mouth.”
“Choose.”
Allan said nothing.
Kelly stood upright. “How the hell are you even conflicted? You have a chance to save your children by sacrificing one of those two—” She flicked a dismissive hand towards the Rogerses.
Sacrificing.
(“The thing about pawns, Allan, is that their low piece value allows you to sacrifice them relatively easily in order to gain a stronger position overall.”)
Nothing easy about this.
(She’s right, though. It’s Kat and the girls. How are you even conflicted?)
Because I don’t trust her.
(What choice do you have?)
We’re pawns. We’re here to be sacrificed so that Kelly may gain a stronger position over Amy, remember?
(Except now she’s allowing you to play. So play and be ruthless. Living in the here and now—you don’t get to just turn it off and on as you please, pal. Choose one. Sacrifice one of the pawns. It may just give you a stronger position over her.)
“Time, she’s a-wasting, Allan. Better choose soon, or Kat and the Kittens will be here any minute—”
“I choose Jon,” Allan said.
“No!” Karen cried.
Kelly took a step back. “Really? Why Jon?”
“Who gives a shit why? I chose. Call my sister.”
“Well, we have to carry it out first,” Kelly said.
“Bullshit! I chose like you wanted. Now call my fucking sister and tell them to go back!”
“Please don’t,” Karen sobbed.
Allan looked down the line of chairs toward Karen. He was amazed he was able to make eye contact with her. “Karen, I’m so, so sorry. He would want the same thing. Jon? Jon?”
Jon slowly lifted his head. He was no longer moaning or grimacing. The continuous pain and blood loss now made him look drugged. Face sluggish and pale and coated in a slick sheen of sweat, he struggled to keep his head from lolling to one side.