Read Bad Games for Free Online

honey.”
    Carrie glanced over her shoulder at the dog for the umpteenth time. The terrier was maintaining a cautious ten feet behind the trio lest he suffer the wrath of Patrick’s shoe again. “He doesn’t have a collar,” she said.
    Patrick skimmed the rock harder this time and managed five skips. Caleb nearly fainted with delight.
    “Daddy, he doesn’t have a collar,” Carrie tried again.
    Patrick breathed in deep through his nose and let it filter out slow. With the most patient of smiles, he said, “Carrie, what would you like Daddy to do? It isn’t our dog. Chances are he’s a stray.”
    Carrie made a funny face. “What’s that ?”
    “It’s a dog that doesn’t have an owner and lives on its own.”
    Carrie’s face lit up and Patrick quickly added to his definition before her little mouth could form a word.
    “— But, ” he began, “that also means he’s probably very dirty and might be carrying some kind of disease. So it’s best to stay away from him.”
    She scrunched her eyebrows. “Disease?”
    “Yes, like rabies. Ever heard of Cujo ?”
    “What’s that?”
    “Never mind. Bottom line is that he’s very dirty, and I want you to stay away from him.”
    “How ’bout we give him a bath then?”
    “How ’bout you listen to your father for a change and do as you’re told?”
     
    * * *
     
    According to Amy, if you’ve seen one Giant Food supermarket you’ve seen them all. So for her, this particular one in western Pennsylvania was no horizon-broadening experience. She moved up and down each aisle with a purpose, grabbing only what was needed, affording no second glances towards impulse items. She enjoyed food shopping as much as she did a pothole after an alignment. Plus, she was still pining to be back with her family so they could settle in properly and let their weekend officially begin.
    “Excuse me?”
    Amy was in aisle seven deciding between two types of instant rice. They were fortunate to have a microwave oven in the cabin, and the convenient Uncle Ben’s pouches that plopped steaming rice onto your plate in ninety seconds were a godsend to hurried families and frozen-waffle-bachelors alike.
    “Excuse me, miss?”
    Amy turned over her shoulder and locked eyes with the man behind her—his black to her light brown. The man was solidly built with a shaved head.
    “Are you talking to me?” Amy asked.
    The man smiled, forcing a squint in those black eyes. “Yeah.”
    “What do you want?”
    “Some help.”
    Amy was backed up against the rice display so she took a step to her left to create distance. The man did not appear an immediate threat, but he had a confident, straightforward way about him that made her feel vulnerable.
    “Help?” she said.
    “Yeah, can you help me?” The man smiled again, a bigger one this time, more confident.
    Amy did not answer right away, and for a good five seconds there was a moment when the two just stared at one another. The man never blinked, and did not speak again until Amy responded. His smile was close to becoming a leer.
    “I don’t know…I…what do you want?” Her words were close to a stutter. She wanted to turn and walk away, but the man with the shaved head had not crossed any physical boundaries. It was his demeanor that seemed to be taking liberties—it held her still despite the desire to move.
    “Help,” the man said once again. “Actually, more like some advice about something.”
    “I don’t know—”
    “You see, I’m cooking dinner for my girlfriend tonight, and I’d be lying if I said I knew my way around a kitchen.”
    Amy heard the word “girlfriend” and expected a sense of relief that she was not his motive. But there was no relief. The way he continued to look at her…
    “I was kind of hoping you might be able to suggest something I could whip up real quick that wouldn’t take all night, something that wouldn’t set my house on fire?” He ended his quip with a satisfied chuckle, all but licking