Chapter Six - Richie

She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but certainly nothing as grotesque as the figure who appeared in the doorway. She felt herself staring at him with a mixture of pity and horror. He was her height, perhaps a little taller, and very skinny. There was something wrong with his left side. It seemed to be only partially under his control. He moved like a puppet whose strings on the left were slightly longer than those on the right. His head was cocked to the left. Both his left eye and his mouth turned down on that side. His left foot twisted inward, causing him to drag it so that he walked with a lurching movement.

He wore a dirty sweat stained tee-shirt and loose fitting olive green trousers that had obviously once belonged to a much larger man. The cuffs were rolled up revealing dirt caked ankles and torn sneakers. Thin strands of straight black hair reached almost to his shoulders. His pinched face was dominated by a large, thin nose. His fingers, too, were long and thin, with dirt and grease ground into the chafed skin. From the corner of his mouth she noticed a small formation of saliva that suddenly spilled over and dribbled down his chin. He paid no attention to it. His eyes were intent on her. She had to look away.

“Richie,” Stein said, “it’s not polite to stare. This is Mrs. Ryan. She’s come to pay us a visit.” Richie grunted something unintelligible. “You see, Mrs. Ryan,” Stein continued, “Richie is somewhat mentally deficient. Several years ago he got into trouble with two young girls and the authorities had to put him away for a little while. Isn’t that right, Richie?”

Kathy turned to face him. He stared at the exposed upper swell of her breasts. “Th…they...they ast for it,” Richie stammered. His hand on the outside of his baggy pants was pulling mechanically at his cock. Kathy turned away again.

“Are there any mice?” Stein asked. Richie grunted. “I think you should feed the pets now,” Stein said. Kathy began to protest, but then realized he was not speaking to her but to Richie. She heard him shuffle down the hall. “We keep a small supply of mice, but when we run out Richie is kind enough to provide their nourishment himself.” Stein paused, smiling up at her, “You and the young man already have something in common.” The implication in the ‘already’ caused her to shudder. “Richie seems to disturb you, Mrs. Ryan. Do you find him attractive?” He laughed.

“No,” she shook her head, “no, he’s frightening.”

“Yes, well, Richie can be a problem. The girls I mentioned were quite young and the crime was sodomy. Do you know what that is, Mrs. Ryan?”

“I’m not sure,” she said.

“It can mean several things, but in Richie’s case it meant anal penetration. Aside from masturbation, that seems to be his preference. Have you ever experienced it? I mean anal penetration.”

“No,” Kathy said, sensing the direction the conversation had taken and feeling a clutch of fear in her stomach, “no, never, I...I...don’t...”

“Ahh, Mrs. Ryan,” Stein cut her off, “when will you learn that closing a door before you even look inside is to deny what might turn out to be an interesting experience.”

“Please, Mr. Stein, I’d like to go home. I’m tired.”

“Yes, and for good reason. Certainly, we will get you a cab. But first come here. I want to show you something.” Stein lifted his bulk out of the chair and led her to the barrel set in its cradle. “I just had this made yesterday. Richie’s father is a master welder. The cradle seems like a mistake with the two front legs shorter than the rear ones, but that’s the way I designed it. Notice how nicely it’s padded. Richie’s mother did the leatherwork and the stitching. She’s a remarkable woman. Some day you will have to meet her.” He patted the top of the leather-covered barrel. “Do you see the eye bolts at the base of each leg?”

“Yes,” she said, “but I...”

“It’s a toy, a gift for Richie. But so far he hasn’t been able to play with it.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“Well, Mrs. Ryan, suppose someone were to lie on it face down, their head at this end.” He pointed to the shorter legs. “And suppose their wrists were fastened to the eye bolts in the floor and their ankles to the base of the longer legs that support the back of the cradle? Do you get the picture?”

“Yes,” Kathy said, turning away.

Stein returned to his chair. “I see you don’t appreciate Richie’s little toy.” He eased himself into the chair. He opened a drawer in the end table. “Look at this,” he said, “I’ve had a gift made for you, too.” From the drawer he took four leather bracelets. Each was about two inches wide and four inches in length. Each had a heavy metal buckle at one end and several evenly spaced holes strung out along the opposite side. Welded to the buckles were iron rings. “I wasn’t sure of your size, but I remembered you have tiny ankles and wrists. I’m sure these will fit. Would you like to try them on?”

“Oh, please, Mr. Stein,” she whispered hoarsely, “please, Mr. Stein, I’m exhausted. I...I couldn’t, just couldn’t. It’s impossible.” The vision of Richie taking her like that, her legs spread, her wrists and ankles secured, and that filthy, retarded, pervert touching her, coming up behind her and…she began to tremble, her breath coming in sobs.

“There, there,” Stein said, “no need to be upset.” He placed the leather straps on the table beside his chair. “I can see that you are tired and that you find Richie repulsive. I must confess he appears that way to me also. I can’t get him to bathe much less teach him manners. However, he is helpful and doesn’t ask for much.” He gestured toward the bathroom. “Would you like to freshen up again before I call a cab?”

“Yes, thank you.” She breathed easier and even managed a smile. She picked up her purse and went to the bathroom remembering to leave the door open.

“It does seem a shame, though, Mrs. Ryan,” Stein raised his voice so she could hear. “I hate to keep bringing it up, but you did bury your fine young husband this morning.” Kathy’s hand began to shake as she tried to apply her lipstick. “And you told me yourself that you were, well, shall we say, indirectly responsible for his untimely death. I really can’t see that you’ve done much today to atone. After all, you did love your husband and, if we are to be honest, you must bear the guilt. The poor man is dead, Mrs. Ryan, and you...well...?” He left the question hanging.

Kathy tried to answer but could not. There was a tightness in her throat and, once more, the tears began to form.

Stein watched her carefully. “You might consider how you caused our Richie to become excited,” he continued. “Richie tends to forget the lessons of the past when he’s that way. And, as we know, there are always little girls running around the shopping malls.”

Kathy wiped away the tears and applied fresh lipstick and light mascara. She crossed the room and stood before him. “I can’t,” she said. “I can’t do it. You promised me the right to choose.” Her voice was firm and, for once, she was able to look directly at him as she spoke.

“Very well,” he sighed, “perhaps some other time. But when you are safe at home I hope you will remember Richie’s condition. Certainly you won’t forget your husband. A widow’s bed can be very wide indeed, especially if the widow is somewhat responsible for...well, you get my meaning.”

Stein went to the phone, sat down heavily, and flipped through an index of phone numbers. Then, he began to dial.

“Wait,” she said.

When he looked up she was holding one of the leather straps out to him. “You will have to help me,” she said.