AN: Wahoo! N&I chap 27! Cyber yummies for Lori!
PART TWENTY-SEVEN
Sometime during what Richie guessed was the night he fell asleep. He woke up and panicked at his current situation before he remembered everything. He was still gagged and tied to the table. Sighing through his nose, he turned his head and found Chuck asleep in a cot he hadn't noticed before. He thought hard for something to do to annoy the other man. He had long ago taken to annoying his kidnapper in revenge for disrupting his schedule. He couldn't sing anymore because of the tape, he couldn't rock the table back and forth like he could a chair, and he couldn't glare at Chuck because he could barely see where he was.
Richie sighed again and pulled at the restrains around his wrists. He had very little movement, the same with his feet. He tried to move any part of his body to little or no avail. He had never so desperately wanted to do homework before. At a loss for what to do, Richie remained still and quite. Subconsciously he started shaking his feet. He didn't notice until the toes of his sneakers came together making a slightly satisfying tap! He tapped his toes together again and the noise was a little louder. Shrugging as best he could, he began to hit his toes together rhythmically until Chuck woke up.
"What the hell do you want?" he demanded ripping the tape off. "It's five in the morning!"
"Like I know what time it is," Richie grumbled.
"What do you want?"
"I have to go to the bathroom," he answered. He really didn't, after all he hadn't had anything to eat or drink in over twenty-four hours. but it seemed like the right thing to say.
"You're kidding right?"
"No," he lied.
"Stay there," Chuck ordered moving away.
"Like I have an option!" Richie yelled after him. A few seconds later, Chuck returned holding an empty beer bottle. Richie looked at him for a second as if he were crazy. "That's not gonna help anything," he told him. "I can't aim what I have to do."
"Then hold it in."
"I have all night! I really gotta go! Look I swear I won't run away or anything. I just gotta take a dump."
"Fine," Chuck groaned moving away again. He came back with a length of rope and a black piece of cloth. He unbuckled the restraint around Richie's right wrist and then tied the rope around it. Then he unbuckled the other restraint. He reached for the strap across Richie's chest then thought better of it. He stopped what he was doing and re-buckled the restraint on Richie's left wrist.
"See you're supposed to be taking them off," Richie explained. "That way I can."
"Shut up!" Chuck barked. He got his sword and laid it on the table to Richie's left. "You try anything funny and I'm killing you, you got it?"
"Wasn't planing on it, but sir, yes, sir!" Richie replied.
Chuck once again moved to undo the strap across Richie's chest, which he did. He held tightly onto the rope around Richie's right wrist as he undid the strap across his stomach. "Sit up," he ordered. With some difficulty Richie managed.
Chuck then pulled Richie's right hand behind his back then his left after unbuckling the restraint. He tied his hands together then blindfolded him. Richie didn't protest, figuring he could escape later. He felt the restraints removed from his ankles. Then the straps were removed starting with the one around his shins until he was seatbelted to the table. Richie felt the blade of Chuck's sword up against his throat at the same time the final strap was removed.
"Get moving," Chuck ordered pushing Richie off the table. Somehow Richie managed to land on his feet. Chuck moved behind him grasping the back of his shirt with one hand and holding his sword to his throat with the other. He led Richie out of the room and down a hallway, turned him left then shoved him into another room.
By the way their footsteps echoed, Richie guessed they were in a bathroom. "So, now what?" he asked.
The sword was removed from his throat and hands began unbuttoning his pants. Richie tried not to blush as his pants were pulled down to his ankles. Chuck pushed him onto the toilet.
"Now you go," Chuck told him.
. . . . . .
"So you came in here." Duncan prompted John who had been excused from practice so he could walk Duncan and Greg through the afternoon he found the note.
"Because Richie's car was still here and usually I'm the only one here on Thursdays for lunch. I figured he was sick or something," John explained.
"And that's when you found the note," Greg finished.
"Yeah, it was on his bed with a sword."
"A sword?" Duncan repeated looking at Greg who returned his slightly panicked look.
"Yeah."
"Can you describe it?"
"Yeah it was a Spanish Rapier," John answered. "It was really weird because my history professor had shown us one just like it in class a few weeks ago."
"Who's your professor?" Duncan asked, although he had a feeling he already knew the answer.
"Miller. um, Simon I think."
"Simon Miller," Greg repeated looking at Duncan.
"Yeah, why?"
"I just want to see where he got it, maybe the dealer has sold more than one in this area," Duncan lied. "Is there anything else you remember?"
"No," John shook his head. "I read the note and went straight to Coach."
"What happened then?"
"He called you guys. And we decided to tell the team Richie had a family emergency and would be gone for a while. maybe not coming back. He is coming back, though, right?"
"Of course. You'll have your captain back soon. Safe and sound."
"Are you sure you won't call the cops?"
"It says no cops," Duncan said. "Besides I used to work special ops; I've done this dozens of times. And Greg here, well, he's quite the fighter. Between the two of us, Richie's going to be fine. Do you know where the sword is now?"
"Coach has it. He wants to talk to Richie about it."
"Okay, thanks, John, you've been a lot of help," Duncan said turning to leave. "I'm sorry this happened, but I'm glad Richie has a friend like you watching his back," he added.
"You tell Richie, I hope he never has to return the favor."
"You tell him," Greg told John before following Duncan to the car. They got in and Greg headed toward campus. "Is it true?" he asked softly.
"What?"
"What you told that boy about having done this dozens of times."
"Yes. Granted they've accumulated over the years, but Richie is going to be fine. He knows there's nothing to worry about. He won't do anything stupid."
. . . . . . .
It took Richie nearly three minutes of hard concentration to get anything to come out, but he did it. When he finished, he sat still and wondered what he was supposed to do next. Surely Chuck wasn't going to wipe his butt for him, but he wasn't about to let him put his pants back on with out someone doing it.
"You done in there?" Chuck called from behind what Richie guessed was the stall door.
"Um. I've done all I can do," Richie answered.
"Good get up."
"Um, I'd like to kinda clean up first."
There was a pause then, "Fine."
Richie was taken out of the stall, pants still around his ankles, and a piece of toilet paper was put in one of his hands. The blade was once again pressed to his throat and his hands were untied.
"Make it quick."
Richie did his job then dutifully shoved the dirty paper in Chuck's direction. "I'd do it, but I can't see," he explained in a smug tone.
"Oh, for pete's sake," Chuck groaned grabbing Richie's wrists. He pulled him a few steps backward. "Let go." Richie did and a moment later the toilet was flushed. He was allowed to pull up his own pants.
"Um." Richie interrupted when Chuck started to tie his hands again.
"Lemme guess, you wanna wash your hands, right?"
"Well, yeah," Richie answered. Chuck grabbed his wrist again and placed his hands on the faucets.
"You know," Richie said as he washed his hands. "This would be a lot easier on the both of us if you would just take the blindfold off."
"Shut up!"
"Is there any soap?" Richie asked. Usually washing his hands never crossed his mind and if he ever thought about it, soap was never involved. Mortal or immortal hygiene was never his strong suit.
"Oh, give me a break," Chuck snapped grabbing his wrists and tying his hands behind his back again.
. . . . . .
"So what should we do about Richie's sword?" Greg asked as he turned onto the street that led to the main entry of the university. "Tell him to say he'd never seen it before?"
"It has his initials on it. Not to mention his finger prints."
"You had it engraved?" Greg asked accusingly.
"Of course, it was a gift," Duncan defended. "And I was busy trying to make sure he knew I wasn't going to let him face this by himself. He has abandonment issues for some reason."
"My fault, right?" Greg shot back.
"I was just making an observation," Duncan said innocently. "Maybe he has an idea."
"So we don't confront Roberts about it? Don't you think that would look a little odd?"
"Good point," he consented. "Can we tell him it's Richie's?"
"Roberts would kick him off the team for keeping a weapon in the team house."
"So it's not Richie's and we've never seen it before."
"What about the initials?"
Duncan shrugged. "How many people are out there with the initials R.R.? Who knows how old the engraving is?"
"That's our story and we're sticking to it, huh?"
"What else can we do? John knows he fences but doesn't know he has his own sword."
"Richie's never going to get his sword back this way," Greg pointed out.
"I'll get him a new one."
"What if we say it was a gift?"
"It was," Duncan pointed out.
"No, listen. He made some fencing team that he tried out for this summer, you got the letter, and sent him the sword," Greg suggested. "It arrived Thursday morning; he called me to tell me the news, and got kidnapped before he could bring it to my house where he was going to keep it."
"You know, that could work. It's plausible and as long as all three of us tell the same story. that's a good idea," Duncan admitted. "That way Richie gets his sword back and it's my fault it was in the house."
. . . . . .
Richie was strapped back down to the table reverse of how he had been released. The blindfold was removed once he was secured.
"Feel better?"
"As much as I can," Richie replied. "So onto day two, huh? What's on schedule for today?"
"You keep quiet and don't bother me," Chuck said. "And if you're good, you get dinner and I'll let you listen to the game."
"The game?" Richie repeated. "The OU game! I'm gonna miss it! You gotta be kidding me! Please man, I gotta play! I'll come back I swear! You can come with me. Sit on the bench and everything; I'll never be out of your sight! Please!"
"No. And if you keep this up you don't get to listen to it either. Not to mention I had no problem eating your dinner last night and am more than willing to do it again."
Completely crestfallen Richie looked away. "Fine," he finally answered. Listening to it was better than nothing. Richie fought the urge to sing and tell bad jokes for the rest of the day.
Finally six thirty rolled around and he was blindfolded and tied up again. Chuck led him to the card table and sat him in one of the chairs. After threats of beheading his hands were untied. His ankles tied to the legs of the chair and his right hand to the back. He sat patiently wondering what was going to happen next. Chuck moved around for a few minutes before speaking to him.
"Food," he said putting Richie's hand on what felt like another meatball sandwich and some chips. "Drink," he put his hand around the neck of a bottle of beer. "You sit here and be quiet and listen. You try anything, taking the blindfold off, untying yourself, deal's off. You're back where you started no food, no drink, no game, no trips to the bathroom, got it?"
"Yeah," Richie answered. "You know, I'm right handed. I'd be less likely to spill if you tied my other hand."
"You want me to tie both?" Chuck snapped.
"I've always wanted to be ambidextrous," Richie mumbled closing his fingers around the sandwich. He ate and listened to the first quarter of the game. He saved his beer for the second quarter. At half time the announcers started talking about him.
"Ryan was called away for a family emergency earlier this week and is expected back in Missouri sometime this week," one said.
"His team seems to be doing fine without him," another added. Chuck laughed at Richie's gaping expression. "They're beating OU 36 to 29."
"But imagine what the score would be with Ryan's three pointers," the first reminded the other. "Remember the NYU game? He's on fire this season." Richie made a smug told you so noise into his beer as he downed the last of it.
"That he is," the second agreed. "But he has nothing to worry about. Monday is taking great care of his team in his absence."
"Monday?" Richie repeated in his head.
"Coach Roberts had the team elect a replacement captain until Ryan can get back," the first announcer explained as if he had read Richie's mind. "The optimistic timeline has Ryan back in time for the Oklahoma State game next week. But apparently there is no definite date set for his return."
"Speaking of returning." the second interrupted. "Halftime is over and we're back to the court for the third quarter of this exciting game."
Richie listened to the third quarter quietly with nothing to do but sit. He had finished his food and beer. A couple minutes into the fourth quarter, Chuck put another beer in his hand. Richie didn't question the offering and started drinking it as well. After the game, Chuck untied him and led him back to the bathroom. He left Richie's hands untied but made him keep the blindfold on; Richie wasn't sure why but he didn't question him. When he was done he was taken back to the room and tied once again to the table where he fell into an uncomfortable sleep.
PART TWENTY-SEVEN
Sometime during what Richie guessed was the night he fell asleep. He woke up and panicked at his current situation before he remembered everything. He was still gagged and tied to the table. Sighing through his nose, he turned his head and found Chuck asleep in a cot he hadn't noticed before. He thought hard for something to do to annoy the other man. He had long ago taken to annoying his kidnapper in revenge for disrupting his schedule. He couldn't sing anymore because of the tape, he couldn't rock the table back and forth like he could a chair, and he couldn't glare at Chuck because he could barely see where he was.
Richie sighed again and pulled at the restrains around his wrists. He had very little movement, the same with his feet. He tried to move any part of his body to little or no avail. He had never so desperately wanted to do homework before. At a loss for what to do, Richie remained still and quite. Subconsciously he started shaking his feet. He didn't notice until the toes of his sneakers came together making a slightly satisfying tap! He tapped his toes together again and the noise was a little louder. Shrugging as best he could, he began to hit his toes together rhythmically until Chuck woke up.
"What the hell do you want?" he demanded ripping the tape off. "It's five in the morning!"
"Like I know what time it is," Richie grumbled.
"What do you want?"
"I have to go to the bathroom," he answered. He really didn't, after all he hadn't had anything to eat or drink in over twenty-four hours. but it seemed like the right thing to say.
"You're kidding right?"
"No," he lied.
"Stay there," Chuck ordered moving away.
"Like I have an option!" Richie yelled after him. A few seconds later, Chuck returned holding an empty beer bottle. Richie looked at him for a second as if he were crazy. "That's not gonna help anything," he told him. "I can't aim what I have to do."
"Then hold it in."
"I have all night! I really gotta go! Look I swear I won't run away or anything. I just gotta take a dump."
"Fine," Chuck groaned moving away again. He came back with a length of rope and a black piece of cloth. He unbuckled the restraint around Richie's right wrist and then tied the rope around it. Then he unbuckled the other restraint. He reached for the strap across Richie's chest then thought better of it. He stopped what he was doing and re-buckled the restraint on Richie's left wrist.
"See you're supposed to be taking them off," Richie explained. "That way I can."
"Shut up!" Chuck barked. He got his sword and laid it on the table to Richie's left. "You try anything funny and I'm killing you, you got it?"
"Wasn't planing on it, but sir, yes, sir!" Richie replied.
Chuck once again moved to undo the strap across Richie's chest, which he did. He held tightly onto the rope around Richie's right wrist as he undid the strap across his stomach. "Sit up," he ordered. With some difficulty Richie managed.
Chuck then pulled Richie's right hand behind his back then his left after unbuckling the restraint. He tied his hands together then blindfolded him. Richie didn't protest, figuring he could escape later. He felt the restraints removed from his ankles. Then the straps were removed starting with the one around his shins until he was seatbelted to the table. Richie felt the blade of Chuck's sword up against his throat at the same time the final strap was removed.
"Get moving," Chuck ordered pushing Richie off the table. Somehow Richie managed to land on his feet. Chuck moved behind him grasping the back of his shirt with one hand and holding his sword to his throat with the other. He led Richie out of the room and down a hallway, turned him left then shoved him into another room.
By the way their footsteps echoed, Richie guessed they were in a bathroom. "So, now what?" he asked.
The sword was removed from his throat and hands began unbuttoning his pants. Richie tried not to blush as his pants were pulled down to his ankles. Chuck pushed him onto the toilet.
"Now you go," Chuck told him.
. . . . . .
"So you came in here." Duncan prompted John who had been excused from practice so he could walk Duncan and Greg through the afternoon he found the note.
"Because Richie's car was still here and usually I'm the only one here on Thursdays for lunch. I figured he was sick or something," John explained.
"And that's when you found the note," Greg finished.
"Yeah, it was on his bed with a sword."
"A sword?" Duncan repeated looking at Greg who returned his slightly panicked look.
"Yeah."
"Can you describe it?"
"Yeah it was a Spanish Rapier," John answered. "It was really weird because my history professor had shown us one just like it in class a few weeks ago."
"Who's your professor?" Duncan asked, although he had a feeling he already knew the answer.
"Miller. um, Simon I think."
"Simon Miller," Greg repeated looking at Duncan.
"Yeah, why?"
"I just want to see where he got it, maybe the dealer has sold more than one in this area," Duncan lied. "Is there anything else you remember?"
"No," John shook his head. "I read the note and went straight to Coach."
"What happened then?"
"He called you guys. And we decided to tell the team Richie had a family emergency and would be gone for a while. maybe not coming back. He is coming back, though, right?"
"Of course. You'll have your captain back soon. Safe and sound."
"Are you sure you won't call the cops?"
"It says no cops," Duncan said. "Besides I used to work special ops; I've done this dozens of times. And Greg here, well, he's quite the fighter. Between the two of us, Richie's going to be fine. Do you know where the sword is now?"
"Coach has it. He wants to talk to Richie about it."
"Okay, thanks, John, you've been a lot of help," Duncan said turning to leave. "I'm sorry this happened, but I'm glad Richie has a friend like you watching his back," he added.
"You tell Richie, I hope he never has to return the favor."
"You tell him," Greg told John before following Duncan to the car. They got in and Greg headed toward campus. "Is it true?" he asked softly.
"What?"
"What you told that boy about having done this dozens of times."
"Yes. Granted they've accumulated over the years, but Richie is going to be fine. He knows there's nothing to worry about. He won't do anything stupid."
. . . . . . .
It took Richie nearly three minutes of hard concentration to get anything to come out, but he did it. When he finished, he sat still and wondered what he was supposed to do next. Surely Chuck wasn't going to wipe his butt for him, but he wasn't about to let him put his pants back on with out someone doing it.
"You done in there?" Chuck called from behind what Richie guessed was the stall door.
"Um. I've done all I can do," Richie answered.
"Good get up."
"Um, I'd like to kinda clean up first."
There was a pause then, "Fine."
Richie was taken out of the stall, pants still around his ankles, and a piece of toilet paper was put in one of his hands. The blade was once again pressed to his throat and his hands were untied.
"Make it quick."
Richie did his job then dutifully shoved the dirty paper in Chuck's direction. "I'd do it, but I can't see," he explained in a smug tone.
"Oh, for pete's sake," Chuck groaned grabbing Richie's wrists. He pulled him a few steps backward. "Let go." Richie did and a moment later the toilet was flushed. He was allowed to pull up his own pants.
"Um." Richie interrupted when Chuck started to tie his hands again.
"Lemme guess, you wanna wash your hands, right?"
"Well, yeah," Richie answered. Chuck grabbed his wrist again and placed his hands on the faucets.
"You know," Richie said as he washed his hands. "This would be a lot easier on the both of us if you would just take the blindfold off."
"Shut up!"
"Is there any soap?" Richie asked. Usually washing his hands never crossed his mind and if he ever thought about it, soap was never involved. Mortal or immortal hygiene was never his strong suit.
"Oh, give me a break," Chuck snapped grabbing his wrists and tying his hands behind his back again.
. . . . . .
"So what should we do about Richie's sword?" Greg asked as he turned onto the street that led to the main entry of the university. "Tell him to say he'd never seen it before?"
"It has his initials on it. Not to mention his finger prints."
"You had it engraved?" Greg asked accusingly.
"Of course, it was a gift," Duncan defended. "And I was busy trying to make sure he knew I wasn't going to let him face this by himself. He has abandonment issues for some reason."
"My fault, right?" Greg shot back.
"I was just making an observation," Duncan said innocently. "Maybe he has an idea."
"So we don't confront Roberts about it? Don't you think that would look a little odd?"
"Good point," he consented. "Can we tell him it's Richie's?"
"Roberts would kick him off the team for keeping a weapon in the team house."
"So it's not Richie's and we've never seen it before."
"What about the initials?"
Duncan shrugged. "How many people are out there with the initials R.R.? Who knows how old the engraving is?"
"That's our story and we're sticking to it, huh?"
"What else can we do? John knows he fences but doesn't know he has his own sword."
"Richie's never going to get his sword back this way," Greg pointed out.
"I'll get him a new one."
"What if we say it was a gift?"
"It was," Duncan pointed out.
"No, listen. He made some fencing team that he tried out for this summer, you got the letter, and sent him the sword," Greg suggested. "It arrived Thursday morning; he called me to tell me the news, and got kidnapped before he could bring it to my house where he was going to keep it."
"You know, that could work. It's plausible and as long as all three of us tell the same story. that's a good idea," Duncan admitted. "That way Richie gets his sword back and it's my fault it was in the house."
. . . . . .
Richie was strapped back down to the table reverse of how he had been released. The blindfold was removed once he was secured.
"Feel better?"
"As much as I can," Richie replied. "So onto day two, huh? What's on schedule for today?"
"You keep quiet and don't bother me," Chuck said. "And if you're good, you get dinner and I'll let you listen to the game."
"The game?" Richie repeated. "The OU game! I'm gonna miss it! You gotta be kidding me! Please man, I gotta play! I'll come back I swear! You can come with me. Sit on the bench and everything; I'll never be out of your sight! Please!"
"No. And if you keep this up you don't get to listen to it either. Not to mention I had no problem eating your dinner last night and am more than willing to do it again."
Completely crestfallen Richie looked away. "Fine," he finally answered. Listening to it was better than nothing. Richie fought the urge to sing and tell bad jokes for the rest of the day.
Finally six thirty rolled around and he was blindfolded and tied up again. Chuck led him to the card table and sat him in one of the chairs. After threats of beheading his hands were untied. His ankles tied to the legs of the chair and his right hand to the back. He sat patiently wondering what was going to happen next. Chuck moved around for a few minutes before speaking to him.
"Food," he said putting Richie's hand on what felt like another meatball sandwich and some chips. "Drink," he put his hand around the neck of a bottle of beer. "You sit here and be quiet and listen. You try anything, taking the blindfold off, untying yourself, deal's off. You're back where you started no food, no drink, no game, no trips to the bathroom, got it?"
"Yeah," Richie answered. "You know, I'm right handed. I'd be less likely to spill if you tied my other hand."
"You want me to tie both?" Chuck snapped.
"I've always wanted to be ambidextrous," Richie mumbled closing his fingers around the sandwich. He ate and listened to the first quarter of the game. He saved his beer for the second quarter. At half time the announcers started talking about him.
"Ryan was called away for a family emergency earlier this week and is expected back in Missouri sometime this week," one said.
"His team seems to be doing fine without him," another added. Chuck laughed at Richie's gaping expression. "They're beating OU 36 to 29."
"But imagine what the score would be with Ryan's three pointers," the first reminded the other. "Remember the NYU game? He's on fire this season." Richie made a smug told you so noise into his beer as he downed the last of it.
"That he is," the second agreed. "But he has nothing to worry about. Monday is taking great care of his team in his absence."
"Monday?" Richie repeated in his head.
"Coach Roberts had the team elect a replacement captain until Ryan can get back," the first announcer explained as if he had read Richie's mind. "The optimistic timeline has Ryan back in time for the Oklahoma State game next week. But apparently there is no definite date set for his return."
"Speaking of returning." the second interrupted. "Halftime is over and we're back to the court for the third quarter of this exciting game."
Richie listened to the third quarter quietly with nothing to do but sit. He had finished his food and beer. A couple minutes into the fourth quarter, Chuck put another beer in his hand. Richie didn't question the offering and started drinking it as well. After the game, Chuck untied him and led him back to the bathroom. He left Richie's hands untied but made him keep the blindfold on; Richie wasn't sure why but he didn't question him. When he was done he was taken back to the room and tied once again to the table where he fell into an uncomfortable sleep.