Amy cursed and hollered as Patrick groaned in pain.
Caleb stayed rooted to his mother. Arty threw up his hands. “He’s never gonna get it.”
“Maybe we need to change the rules a bit?” Jim asked.
“How’s that?”
Jim threw Carrie into Arty. He caught her and felt her dead weight against him; there wasn’t even the smallest attempt at a struggle.
It was now Jim’s turn to leave the room. He returned with three knives—two in one hand, one in the other. Each knife was twelve inches long and sharp enough to shave with.
Jim handed the knives to Arty, and Arty handed Carrie back to Jim.
Arty held the knives up for all to see. “You want me to use these?” he asked.
“Sure beats a rock,” Jim said.
Arty touched the point of the blade and pricked his index finger. A drop of blood grew on the tip. He watched the drop grow bigger until it dripped a red line down to his palm. He licked the red line up to the tip of his finger, sucked then smacked his lips on the wound and said, “Sure does.”
51
The recent substitution to the game—the knives—caused a spastic uproar from Amy. Her garbled swearing increased despite her four-year-old son on her chest.
Patrick’s reaction to the knives was different. It appeared a sort of heroic defiance, almost willing his captors to throw them; his chest was out and his head was upright.
Amy wanted to scold her husband’s bravado. She understood his behavior (oh how she understood), but she feared it would only incite their antagonists. Or worse yet, make their sick game more enjoyable.
But she knew her husband. She knew he was a big teddy bear. But she also knew he had a breaking point. And that point had been broken a long fucking time ago. His rage was now bubbling beneath the lid, periodically hissing as it touched the burner beneath. She just prayed his wrath still clung to common sense. That dying with your boots on was not the goal now—salvation was.
“Alright,” Arty said. “I’m gonna give this a try. Last chance, Caleb!”
No response.
“Fine.”
Arty whistled the first knife towards Patrick. Amy watched right up until the last second before impact, shutting her eyes tight before the knife had a chance to find its home. She only opened them when she heard the knife pierce the drywall behind her husband.
He had missed.
“Shit,” Arty said.
“It’s alright, bro,” Jim said. “You’ve got two more.” Jim glanced at Amy, winked and said, “Don’t worry; he’s good at this. Could have been in the fucking circus.”
Arty looked at the two knives in his hands, then at Caleb glued to Amy’s chest. “I want the kid to watch this,” he said.
Jim pushed Carrie into a corner and told her to sit. She did as she was told and fell into a catatonic slump, sucking her thumb and staring at nothing.
Jim then stepped forward and ripped Caleb from Amy’s chest. Amy shrieked and fought so hard the chair fell over, her head and shoulder colliding hard with the wooden floor. The impact did not deter her tirade as she continued to scream and fight.
Both brothers laughed at the overturned chair as Jim hoisted Caleb up and into his arms. The boy was the opposite of Carrie’s dead weight; he was a tightly wound ball trying to retreat into himself. Both he and his sister had shut down. It was as simple as that. Their young minds just couldn’t process the horrific goings-on that were happening around them, and their only available coping mechanism was to switch off.
So when Jim felt the boy’s rigid weight in his arms, turned and fixed on Carrie’s blank stare in the corner, he fronted his brother and said, “These kids are going to be useless, man.”
Arty was not so easily deterred. “Bullshit.” He gripped knife number two in one hand, and peeled Caleb’s head back from his brother’s shoulder with the other, placing the blade directly in front of the boy’s face. “You’re going to watch, Caleb. You were too stupid to play, so now you’re going to watch.”
Arty spun and whipped knife number two at Patrick. The knife stuck deep within the drywall next to Patrick’s head, missing again.
“Shit! I hit him both fucking times with the rocks!” Arty said.
“Relax,” Jim said, hoisting Caleb up. “You’re getting too wound up.”
Amy was still turned over on her side, but she could see clearly. She knew that last knife would be thrown with serious intent, and she prayed with every