Bad Things by Tamara Thorne

another cartoon show?”
    â€œOkay.” The boy reached up and took a piece of fruit, then disappeared back into the living room.
    Dakota turned back to Rick. “So this house you own is the same one that you grew up in?”
    â€œThe very same.”
    â€œSo how come you’ve never mentioned it before?”
    â€œThere are some bad memories . . .”
    The greenjacks’ll getcha if you don’t watch out.
    â€œHow do you mean, ‘bad’?”
    â€œOh, you know, goofy stuff mostly. Kid stuff.” Boy, does that sound stupid! His hand trembled as he sliced a potato.
    â€œGoofy? Kid stuff’?” Dakota stopped peeling to stare at him. “Come on, Rick. You think I can’t see that this ‘goofy kid stuff’ is eating you up? It’s why you’ve never gone back, isn’t it?”
    Rick said nothing.
    â€œNo more bullshit, Piper, dear. What’s the real story?”
    â€œThere’s nothing else, Dakota, really. The place is a little run-down,” he added quickly. “At least that’s what my lawyer says, but it’s solid. It’s in the best part of town, and the schools are excellent, but . . .”
    Ricky, icky Ricky, Ricky, icky Ricky.
    â€œIf it’s so great, then what the hell are you raising kids in this hellhole for? Gambling, drinking, drugs, hookers . . . Mormons, for Christ’s sake . . .”
    Icky Ricky, I’m gonna getcha, Icky Ricky.
    â€œRick! Watch out!”
    Startled, Rick jumped, dropping the knife. It clattered into the sink.
    â€œJesus Christ, Piper! Let me see that.”
    Rick recoiled as Dakota’s water-cold hand grabbed his left wrist.
    The potatoes he’d sliced into the colander were turning red. He watched bright blood splash into the white sink as Dakota pulled Rick’s arm toward him.
    â€œYou’re bleeding like a sieve.” O’Keefe pulled a wad of paper towels from the holder and wrapped them around Rick’s fingers. “Jesus, I can’t even see which finger you cut. Piper, you’re as white as a baby’s butt. Are you okay?”
    â€œNot one of my smoother moves,” Rick said as he took charge of his hand, pressing on the towels to stop the bleeding. It was starting to hurt.
    â€œAre you okay?” Dakota repeated.
    â€œFine. Got any Band-Aids?”
    â€œJust a sec. Let me rinse the blood off these potatoes before it soaks in or something. What Cody doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Keep hanging on to those towels.”
    Rick almost smiled. Dakota was nothing if not practical. He loosened the pressure, but the artery was still pumping. He tightened up again, feeling a little dizzy.
    â€œYou’re shocky. Sit down,” Dakota ordered as he left the room. A moment later, he was back with a box of adhesive bandages and a bottle of iodine.
    Carefully Rick unwrapped the hand, and everything south of his abdomen tried to climb to visceral safety as the pad of his middle finger, nearly severed, started to come away with the towels. Gingerly he loosened it and let it fall back over the wound.
    â€œYou need stitches,” Dakota said.
    â€œNo, I don’t,” Rick answered.
    â€œIf that finger was your throat, you’d be dead.”
    Rick snorted. “Don’t be so dramatic, O’Keefe. It’s not my throat.”
    â€œWell, it’s gaping. What are you planning to do? Staple it shut?”
    â€œThat’s a thought,” he said, trying to ignore the throbbing. “But let’s try a Band-Aid first.”
    â€œYou need stitches. The fucking thing is positively grinning at me.”
    â€œIt’s cut on the bias,” Rick said, keeping his voice light. “All I need to do is tape it down. It’ll glue naturally.” It was everything he could do to control his trembling. “The Band-Aid, please?”
    â€œSuit yourself.” Dakota shrugged and unwrapped several bandages. Wearing a