Chapter Two
Peter looked up silently when Paul came back with the girl. She was wearing a new outfit, shorts and a t-shirt. At least there was that.
"Who won?" Peter asked blandly, and Paul burst into laughter.
The night had worn on for a while and no was too enthusiastic anymore. Ronnie didn't even try to break her fall when Paul tossed her to the ground.
"I'm pretty hungry," Paul said, scratching his chest. "I bet you are too, huh, Tubby?"
"So?" Peter said defensively. "I haven't eaten anything since yesterday."
"Sure, yeah. I'll get us something. Why don't you tie up the rest of the family?"
"It's just a precaution," Peter said apologetically as he wound the roll of tape around the still unconscious Mr. Grady's ankles. "And don't worry," he said when he turned to Ronnie. "No one will blame you. When they do the autopsy and find the semen, no one will think you're a little slut." He watched her face crumble. He was watching her so intently that he almost didn't notice the shadow falling over him.
Peter turned just in time to see James, ever the little hero, swing the baseball bat down on his face.
"Shit!" Peter yelled, clutching his spurting nose, blinking back the gray that came with the pain. James swung again, shouting wordlessly, and missed. Peter reached out and pulled the kid's leg out from under him. He ripped the bat from the boy's hands and slammed the butt of it into his heaving chest. Peter's own shoulders were rising and falling with deep breaths. Anger contorted his face but he said quite calmly, "Now look what you've done." He swung the bat hard against Mr. Grady's head, grunting. "I told you before—" he swung again, and there was a loud crack! "—that what you do affects the rest of the family." The kid was sobbing and gasping.
"What happened?" Paul appeared in the doorway. His eyes widened. "Jesus. What happened to your face?" Peter strode out of the room quickly and when he came back in with a wad of paper towels pressed to his face, the rest of the family was tied up with the tape.
"Let me see," Paul said. He examined Peter's blood-smeared face.
"Is it broken?" Peter whined.
"Nah," Paul said after a moment, releasing his partner-in-crime's chin. "Don't worry, your face is still as disfigured as before."
"He hit me," Peter sulked.
"Yeah, well, his parents probably didn't raise him with any manners," Paul said angrily. "Kids these days. Hey, quit pouting. We can still play."
"Fine," he said quietly.
"Great." Paul clapped his gloves together and turned to the family. "Huh." His smile fell. "Look at that, all four of them alive. We should start thinking about that bet, huh?"
"We're gonna lose at this pace."
"Let's see. Eenie-meenie-miney-mo! Look at that, Dad's practically dead already. Hm." He leaned over the man on the carpet, cocking his head. He held the baseball bat in both hands. "Beating someone to death isn't very efficient. Peter," he declared, "we need a knife."
"You were just in there," Peter said, pulling away the wad of paper towels and giving it a quick look. "Did you even find any food?"
"It's in there, all right? I didn't grab it, I was too focused on you crying about your gorgeous face."
"I wasn't crying," Peter muttered, turning and walking out of the room. On the kitchen island there was a Tupperware container with a few leftover hamburger patties, shaped by hand. He stuck the container in the microwave while he pawed through the drawers. His gloved hand came out with a long serrated knife.
There was a scream from the next room.
Peter grabbed the food and walked back to the game room.
"You sick son of a bitch!" Mrs. Grady shrieked. "Don't fucking touch her again!"
"Janet," Paul was saying calmly, crouched in front of the woman on the couch. "You need to calm down. I mean, you're not really in control here."
"I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you!"
"Please. You're scaring the children. Why don't you take a breath," he paused to demonstrate, "and we can play some more games? Hm?"
Peter sat heavily on the easy chair, watching, picking at the meat.
Mrs. Grady didn't say anything more. Paul smiled, patted her on the knee, and got to his feet. He stretched his arms over his head, sighing; Peter's eyes flicked over him.
"Ah," Paul said abruptly, turning to his partner-in-crime. "May I?" He held out his hand.
"But of course."
Paul examined the knife, making it glint against the overhead light. Peter thought he was just being dramatic.
"No, no, no," Ronnie moaned, pressing her face to her knees.
It was like a movie he'd once seen, when he was younger. Paul raised and brought down the knife hard, until Mr. Grady's writhing body went still. Peter nibbled at a patty, watching the blood spread and pool.
