Return From Darkness 7/7
Terry Odell (tlco777@JUNO.COM)
Mon, 29 Oct 2001 14:10:18 -0500
Return From Darkness
Part 7/7
By T. L. Odell
Disclaimers in Part 0
Another week passed. Richie started initiating
conversations. "What do you think about opera?"
"I don't care much for it. I prefer more contemporary music.
Why?"
"Just wondering if it was an Immortal thing, or something
special with Mac. Except for stuff like Mozart, just about all
that he used to allow on his big stereo system was opera."
"Why the past tense?" Adam asked.
"Well, now, if I put 'Nine Inch Nails' or 'Smashing Pumpkins'
on in the living room, he just looks at Tessa, but never says
anything."
"And does that bother you?"
"I think they're afraid to upset me. But sometimes I wish
they'd treat me the way they used to. You know, get mad
when I screw up. I know I must be driving them nuts. Heck,
I'm driving me nuts."
Adam smiled. "You're doing fine."
***
A few days later, Tessa was in the kitchen making fruit salad
when Richie and Adam came back from their walk. They
joined her in the kitchen, Adam helping himself to a beer,
and Richie sitting at the table. "Did you have a nice walk,
Richie?" asked Tessa.
Richie looked at Adam before answering. "Okay, I guess.
It's windy."
Tessa smiled. "Would you like to help cut up some fruit?"
Richie went to her side and cut an orange in half.
"That's good, but you have to peel oranges before they can
go in the salad. Why don't you work on the apples," she said
and handed him one.
Richie took the apple in his hand. He rotated it in his palms.
He dropped it as if it were on fire and raced out of the room.
Sitting on the edge of his bed, Richie waited for his heart to
stop pounding. Freaked by an apple. Well, at least he didn't
cry or puke this time.
He took a deep breath, stood up, held his head high, and
walked back into the kitchen. Adam was still drinking his
beer. Richie picked up the knife and began cutting up
apples for the salad as if nothing had happened. "I kind of
ate too many apples once," he offered as way of
explanation.
***
Richie tried to fight off his attackers, but he couldn't move.
His arms were pinned. He struggled in vain. "Just tell me
what you want. I'll do it, just tell me what you want," Richie
whimpered.
A man's voice called softly. "Richie. It's Duncan. Mac.
You're safe. You're home. It's all right. Wake up; it's just a
bad dream."
Richie opened his eyes. His fear must have been obvious.
Mac sat on the edge of Richie's bed and took his hand. He
spoke in soothing tones. "I'm not going to hurt you. You can
stay right here, in your bed, in the light. You haven't done
anything wrong. I want you to relax, Richie. Just lie back.
I'll be here. You don't have to do anything."
"It's okay, Mac. I'm awake now." He wished Duncan would
go away.
"You know I'm very proud of you. You did your job. You
stayed alive until I found you."
"Only because they didn't take my head. I didn't do
anything."
"You stayed alive. That's all that matters. Whatever you did,
that was the right thing."
"If you say so."
"Richie, can you tell me anything about what they did to
you?"
"It hurts too much. I'm okay; you can go back to bed."
Duncan made no move to leave. "Can you try just a little?
Just squeeze my hand if it hurts. I'll share the pain with
you."
Richie pulled himself to a sitting position. Adam had told him
he'd be able to talk about what happened eventually. Maybe
he really could do it. "Adam said it's easier if you move the
pictures in your head far away, and make them not so real -
you know, black and white instead of color, cartoon drawings
instead of photographs."
"And is Adam right?"
"Pretty much. The images still come, but they don't seem as
scary."
"Good. Then why don't you keep on doing that and see if
you can talk about what happened."
Richie took a shaky breath and stared at a point high on the
distant wall. "They kept me in the basement in the dark.
They gave me apples, cheese and water. Itchy blankets.
And a bucket."
Duncan squeezed Richie's hand. "That's a good start. Can
you remember anything else?"
"There were different men, but Cowboy was always there.
He was the leader. I think he charged the other guys big
bucks to come play. They'd bring me up from the basement.
They taped me in a scratchy chair while they had their fun."
He fought back the images of the blood, the pain. "Then
they'd kill me. With my sword. When I came back, they'd
kick me downstairs until the next time."
Richie hesitated a moment. He could do this. Pretend it's
someone else. It's just a cartoon show. He dug his hands
into Duncan's palm and took another cleansing breath.
"The burning was the worst." He spoke in a dull monotone,
eyes glued to his focal point. "Matches, candles, sometimes
hot pokers. It hurt so much, and the smell made me sick.
Drowning was the easiest. And at least I'd be semi-clean for
a day." He paused when a flicker of motion crossed his
peripheral vision. Tessa was in the doorway.
"It's okay, Tessa. If I'm going to get through this, it'll be
easier just to do it once."
Tessa came in and sat on the other side of Richie's bed.
Her eyes glistened with tears.
"I had to figure out what they wanted so they'd stop cutting
me, or shooting me, or hitting me, or whatever ... how could
they enjoy that? They made up rules, different ones each
time. Sometimes if I made any sounds they'd hurt me
worse; sometimes they would give me a break if I made a lot
of noise or tried to get away. They'd bet on how long before
I'd beg them to stop. I tried not to... not give them the
satisfaction ... but ... I begged. I cried." Richie's voice
cracked, and he wept, his head buried in Duncan's chest.
He felt the soft touch of Tessa's hands on his back. He
pulled back and touched Duncan's wet face. He saw only
compassion in the Scot's brown eyes.
Duncan held him for several minutes before speaking again.
"You're doing fine Richie. We'll get through this together.
Can you go on?"
Richie drew strength from Duncan's embracing arms. "A
couple of the guys would, you know ... well, they'd have their
hands in their pants...even Kathleen watched sometimes,
and she'd get this look..."
"They're sick, Richie. Evil and sick," Duncan said.
"I know, but it still hurt just as much. And sometimes they'd
... they'd ... "
"It's okay, Richie. Go on," Duncan said, gently stroking
Richie's back. "None of this was your fault."
"I can't. I just can't."
"You can, Richie. Close your eyes, take a deep breath, and
just say it," Tessa said softly.
Richie paused. "They raped me," he whispered. He felt his
face burning with shame. "One ... put my ... you know ... in
his mouth, and later his ... up my ... I couldn't stop it. I
hated it, but I still ... still ... ."
Everything he had ever tried to keep inside seemed to come
flooding out in gut wrenching sobs. Memories of his foster
parents entwined with those of his tormentors. He cried
tears of anger, of fear, of shame, of relief. He sobbed until
he had nothing left.
Richie felt Duncan's arm around his shoulders. "Listen to
me," he heard the Scot say. "You have nothing to be
ashamed of. It was pure violence."
Totally drained, Richie sniffed and collapsed into the
protective custody of Duncan's broad torso. He was home.
The three sat together in silence for several minutes.
Tessa's quiet voice broke the stillness. "Richie, I know
Duncan would want a drink right about now. How about
you? Scotch? Brandy? Or maybe hot chocolate?"
Richie peeked up at Tessa. "Do we have any ice cream?
All of a sudden, I'm hungry."
"You've got it. Mac?"
"You two can split the ice cream. I'll stick with brandy."
Tessa smiled and left the room to fetch their treats.
Richie woke up first the next morning. He felt his face flush
when Duncan and Tessa came into the kitchen, but he
forced himself to meet their eyes. "Would you like some
breakfast?" he asked. "I was going to scramble some eggs."
"We'd love some," Duncan said. "How about I make the
coffee, and Tessa can make the toast."
The threesome sat around the breakfast table, enjoying a
meal for the first time in a long while. "Think you can help
me in the shop for a while today, Richie?" asked Duncan.
"I've got some crates that need to be unpacked."
"Sure. Glad to help." Richie smiled. "At least until Adam
gets here."
Duncan flashed a smile back. "After breakfast, then."
Life slowly approached its normal proportions. Richie did
chores in the shop during business hours although he
refused to wait on customers. He still couldn't trust his
emotions. Although the fits of anger and the crying spells
had lessened, they crept up almost without warning. He
started going back to Charlie's dojo to train, and ran with
Duncan most mornings. Richie and Adam continued their
daily walks. The nightmares diminished in frequency, and
he began turning off the lamp when he went to bed.
After dinner one night, Richie got up from the table and put a
CD into the player. Duncan and Tessa exchanged one of
their disagreement looks. Duncan shook his head. Richie
turned up the volume. Tessa glared at Duncan, marched
over to the stereo and turned it off.
"Richie, that's enough. You have a perfectly good system in
your room; if you want to listen to these Mashed Squash -"
"Smashing Pumpkins."
"Fine, "Smashing Pumpkins," then. If you want to listen to
the noise you call music, you do it in your room with the door
closed or the headphones on. And another thing. You're
supposed to be doing the dishes. You can start tonight."
She stood there, hands on her hips and stared at him.
Richie grinned as though his face would break, then
embraced Tessa in a bear hug. "I love you, Tess." He went
to the kitchen where Duncan was standing with a bewildered
expression on his face. "You, too, Mac."
The Scot stood still for a moment, then wrapped his arm
around Richie's neck and rubbed his knuckles through
Richie's hair. "Well," he said. "Get going. There's a counter
full of dishes waiting to be washed."
***
Epilogue:
The seasons passed. Richie had his good days and his bad
days. He worked off his anger at the dojo or sparring with
Duncan. He could face customers in the shop. Adam came
by every now and then, and he and Richie would disappear
for hours, sharing beers and quiet conversation when they
returned. Adam joined them for Christmas dinner. Soon the
second anniversary of the shooting approached. Tessa
opened the mail and found three concert tickets.
"Mac, do you know who might have sent these?" She
handed him the envelope.
He looked at the tickets. "Not a clue. Richie? Did you order
concert tickets for us?"
"No. Let me see." He took the pieces of pasteboard from
Duncan and laughed out loud. "They've got to be from
Adam." He looked at Tessa. "Guess you get to pick the
restaurant this time. We're going to a 'Queen' concert."
The End
Author's notes:
This started out as a birthday present for Sandra McDonald who wanted a
Richie h/c story. Happy Belated Birthday, Sandra. And thanks for all
your stories that inspired me, your advice and excellent comments. Sorry
it's not much of a present since you had to do all that work to make it
presentable. Thanks also to MacGeorge and Dawn Cunningham for their
sharp eyes and keen efforts, and to Randy Ferrance for helping this
non-violent old lady with the fighting. And you, too Jess. Any errors
are my own.
Feedback to tlco777@juno.com