Too Clever by a Mile Ch. 04

She held out her left hand, "OK, hand them over."

He handed her the two bracelets.

She looked at one then the other. They were constructed just like the collar, "If I put these on I can take them off whenever I like."

"Of course."

Cathy clipped the first one on. She heard the faint metallic click of the clasp. She slipped the other one on and heard the same faint melodic sound. She took the two small O ring bolts and tightened each one around and over the clasp, then she dropped the hinge bolts in and tightened them with her star shaped screwdriver. She looked over at Steve, "There, satisfied?"

He gave her one his best inscrutable looks, "No, I want you to put on the ankle pieces too."

She gave up. She knew she could take them off whenever she wanted. She leaned back on the sofa, "You do it."

Steve reached back down and found the ankle pieces. He affixed one to her right ankle, and the other to her left ankle. He closed the clasps, tightened on the metal O rings, and screwed in the hinge bolts. They clanked and clattered as he put them on. Once more he looked at her, "There, all done."

She looked back, "You sure?"

He graced her with his best smile, "Almost." He leaned down and got her blouse. He helped her slip it back on, and buttoned a couple of the top buttons. He slipped the camisole and the skirt in one of the empty boxes, "I want to go to bed, How about you?"

She willingly stood up, "Finally."

He held her close against his body for what seemed like the umpteenth time, "I have a special new arrangement right here in the gazebo just for us."

She leaned up to kiss him. He leaned down and their lips met.

They sat there together, He asked, "Want to look in the mirror again?"

She answered, "No."

"OK, we'll do something else. I want to show one more new thing. Stand up."

Cathy stood up. She was almost totally unnerved.

Steve turned around and opened the top drawer of a small chest that was by the door. He pulled out a length of chain. It looked just like the chain that connected her ankles together, only this one was a lot shorter. He said, "Come here."

Cathy stood still.

He said it again, "Come over here."

She knew what the short length of chain was for, "Steve."

He pointed to the spot right in front of where he was standing, "Come here and kneel down."

She stepped back slightly and fell back on the sofa, "Steve don't"

He pointed again, "Here."

This was preposterous. What kind of sick game was he playing? She slowly got back up, walked over to where he was standing, and knelt down.

He said, "Hold up your hands."

She held up her hands.

This time there were no little clasps. Attached to each end of the chain he had now there were two small open ended ovals. At the open ends there were small holes. He took her left hand and fitted the open ovoid through the O ring of the bracelet. He picked up a small bolt and nut. He pushed the bolt through the holes and tightened them together. He took the star shaped screwdriver and further tightened down the bolt till the open end of the ovoid was completely closed. It was obvious the reactive pressure of the closed oval would make it impossible to reopen without the screwdriver.

Cathy saw what was happening. She looked up. Big tears were dribbling down her cheeks. She wondered, what happened to the wonderful man she'd been in the chapel with? She murmured, "Steve, please."

He ignored her, "Almost finished. He took her right hand and performed the same operation with the bracelet and chain. He used the chain to pull her to her feet. He gave her a kind of idiosyncratic smile, "One more thing."

He reached in the drawer and pulled out one more length of chain. This one was easily twelve feet long.

She reached for the collar and felt for the fearful O ring. She knew what was coming next,"Please Steve. Why are you doing this?"

Steve took the long chain. He locked it to an O ring that had been discreetly hidden under a futon on the floor. He took the other end, and using the same procedure he'd used with her wrist chains, he affixed the other end of the long chain to her neck. He gave her another one of those strange smiles, "There you are dear, all fixed up."

Cathy tried to laugh. She evoked a kind of phony supercilious giggle. Even though she knew there was something particularly dark and sinister going on she pretended this was still something light and frivolous. She pretended to dance around. Every move brought the ominous clatter of metal. She sang, "Oh here I am, just a bird in a gilded cage."

Steve didn't smile

She stopped, she burst into tears again, "Steve stop this. Undo me."

He stood there, facing her like she was some kind of war criminal.

She cried, "Steve what wrong? What have I done? Why are you doing this? Say something."

Finally he said something, "It's getting late. I have some more work to do, you know, about the hospice." He turned toward the door.

She stepped forward, "Where are you going?"

He glanced back, "First to my office, then probably in an hour or so to bed."

Eyes wide in utter and total disbelief she asked, "What about me?"

He gave her another of those inscrutable stares, "You'll be fine. I'll be back sometime tomorrow or maybe in a few days."

"A few days?" she wailed, "I can't stay here a few days. Steve!"

Steve knew he had to leave right away. If he waited another second he'd cave in. He kept telling himself he had to do this. This would break her down. It was like water boarding. He'd break her, and then she'd tell him what he needed, what he had to know. He looked back one last time, "There's food and water in the refrigerator. I've got the heat set high enough that you won't catch a cold. Get a good night's sleep." He turned and walked through the gazebo door and closed it.

Cathy called after him, "Steve don't leave me out here like this. Steve tell me what I've done. Whatever it is I'm sorry. Steve! Steve you want me to do the maid thing again? Steve I'll do whatever you want, I will." He was out of sight.

She sat down on the sofa. She held up her hands and looked at the manacles. She pulled her hands as far apart as she could. Looking down at her captured feet she did the same thing. She held her head in her hands and cried.

In fact she cried almost all night. She didn't go to sleep. She didn't try to go to sleep. She fumbled around with the chains a little more, but she knew beforehand, when he took the screwdriver she was stuck. The manacles he'd so carefully helped her put on might as well have been welded in place. This was so degrading. All she did was sit on the sofa and cry. She cried until she ran out of water for tears. The only thing that diverted her attention was around 4:00 a.m. she knew she had to pee. Steve had apparently thought of everything, well almost everything.

Steve went inside. For a few minutes he pretended everything was OK. He sauntered around the house whistling and acting like he had everything under control. That lasted almost twenty minutes.

Finally he went upstairs and looked out the bathroom window. The bathroom was the best place to get a view of the gazebo. Damn, he'd left the venetian blinds open. He saw her. She was just sitting out there, sitting on the sofa. He could tell she was crying. He turned the bathroom light out so she wouldn't know he was watching.

He watched her from the bathroom window almost all night. He'd turned the bright overhead light in the gazebo off when he walked out, but the softer table lamp by the sofa was still on. She didn't move. She didn't try to move. She just sat out there. He could see the chains glisten every time she shifted position. He just sat inside.

The occasional glimmer of the chains was a constant reminder of what he was doing to her; it made him feel small and mean. He knew his father would have been ashamed of him. He heard the old man's voice, 'Son, men don't take advantage of women. They're not like we are'.

His father had treated his mother like she was a saint. She was a saint too. No man had a better wife. No woman had a more doting husband. Steve felt like a bastard. If his mother were alive she'd be mortified. What he was doing to Cathy sucked; it really sucked.

Even though there was no way she could hear him he started talking to her. He started yelling at her, "Why don't you turn out the light? Turn out the damn light! Put out the light and go to sleep. I know you're guilty so turn out the light. Go on go to sleep!" He got madder at her for not trying to get to sleep than he was for suspecting she was a possible thief.

Cathy sat up all night. She was in utter disbelief. Why had he done this? Why was he doing this to her? Didn't he know she loved him? She shouted at the lifeless gazebo door, "Steve I love you. Let me out."

Steve, of course, heard nothing. What he was doing made absolutely no sense. He really did love her. Her senseless cruelties to those other two men notwithstanding, he really loved her. He was just afraid he couldn't trust her, not yet anyway. She needed to be taught a lesson. This was the first part of that lesson. He started asking himself, 'What was the lesson?'

Steve stared out the bathroom window and argued with himself till 6:00 a.m. He half hoped when he went back down she might come clean about her reasons for getting involved with him. If she did then that would prove a lot, and all of it in her favor. Still, he was afraid she might not have the courage or the moral fiber to open up. But what did he know? She sure cared about Ginger. She sure took a lot of shit off Theresa. He'd sure dished it out at the party. For someone who told herself she didn't know how to pray, that was one hell of a prayer she made for Ginger. To tell the truth, though he'd been warned she was a gold digging thief, she hadn't said or done one thing to indicate any of that was true.

What was wrong with her? Shit! What was wrong with him?

He'd watched television once about how detectives could tell when someone was guilty or innocent of something. The guilty were all always calm and controlled. The innocent were always in a panic. Cathy was downstairs in a panic. She was behaving like she was innocent. If she was innocent, then why had he done the mean thing he'd done. They'd played with ribbons and a corset, that had all been fun. Even Cathy had liked it. What he was doing to her in the gazebo now was just sadistic. It was mean. He wasn't like that. What was wrong with him?

He checked the clock. Almost 6:00 a.m. He'd waited long enough he went back downstairs and out to the gazebo. He opened the gazebo door, "Good morning, Cathy, you awake?"

Cathy looked up with tired bloodshot eyes, "Steve, why are you doing this to me?"

He couldn't go on. He just couldn't do it anymore. He had to either get it out of her or just tell her right then and there. He asked, "Cathy is there anything you want to tell me?"

Still totally unaware that he had the slightest clue about her past she answered, "I know I love you."

"I know that, or at least that's what you've been telling me. I mean is here anything else? Is there anything you might be hiding?"

She sat more upright on the sofa. The chains rattled as she moved, "Nothing that would interest you."

"You sure?"

She slid around. The chains clattered. She pleaded, "Come on Steve let me loose. Unchain me. I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I have to pee."

She wasn't going to say anything. He decided to give her one more chance, "I think you're hiding something."

She kept squirming, the metal kept rustling, "I have to pee. Let me up, please?"

"You are hiding something aren't you?"

"OK, I'm hiding something. If you say I'm hiding something just tell me what it is, then let me up so I can pee."

He watched her squirm about. In spite of himself he thought she looked awfully good, and he hadn't gotten any relief yet, "Don't you have a confession to make?"

She squeezed her legs together, "OK, I confess. I have a weak bladder. Now let me go to the bathroom!"

"That's not it."

"Steve let me out. I can't hold it any longer."

"Not till..." It was too late she really couldn't hold it any longer. He watched as she finally let go. It was a nice smooth long pee. She watered the whole sofa, herself, her blouse, and of course her panties.

He relented, "OK, I'll let you loose."

She had started to cry, "It doesn't matter now. Look at me. I'm a mess."

He felt real pity, genuine empathy...and guilt, "Yes you really are one hell of a mess, and I don't mean the pee either."

She was crying again. She'd thought she'd run out of tears, but more were coming out, big tears, huge globules of saltwater poured out of dark brown eyes. She used her shackled hands to wipe the water away from her face.The cold metal bracelets made her grimace as they rubbed across her cheeks.

He felt terrible. God was he an ass hole. This couldn't be the nasty bitch all the people he'd talked to said she was. It just didn't make sense, not to him anyway, not right then, not any more. He went over and sat down beside her. He unscrewed the ovoid that held the long chain to her collar. He grabbed her and let her fall softly to the floor. On the way down he kissed her. He was a real ass hole.

She kept crying and talking, "You're so mean. What did I do to deserve this?"

He was already pulling the soggy pillow case off the sofa. He wished he understood what he was doing. He started to act aggressively. What else was there to do? "You must have done something. Try to remember."

Cathy crawled over to a corner of the gazebo, actually the only corner that wasn't crowded with junk. She knelt there; hands locked, feet askew and ratcheted together with shackles, a metal collar around her neck, face soaked with tears, mousy brown hair all unkempt, half blind because her glasses were still back on the sofa, the bottom of her blouse sodden with yellow pee, the once pretty collar all gnarled and wrinkled,her wet cotton panties provocatively outlining her woman's crease, and her poor vagina starting to itch from un-wiped urine.

Steve kept working on the sofa. Actually he was stalling, "You might as well come clean. Try to think back on your past life. Is there anything back there you might be ashamed of?"

She stopped crying. She sniffled. Her antenna finally went up. He knew something. Hell, she bet he knew everything. He wasn't stupid, but she'd figured that out after the first few days. He wasn't just another ego-centric male shit bird either. He was the genuine article, the kind of guy women dream about; that one in a million man who actually had his act together, cared more about other people than himself, and actually poured his heart and soul into something bigger than himself.

It was coming clear. His first wife had died, died of what, leukemia. What had he been doing since then; he'd been helping sick children, children sick with cancer.

She watched as he finished trying to clean the sofa. She had to come clean. He needed to hear the truth, but would he accept the truth, her version. She looked down at her chained feet. If he knew, and he most certainly did, then why didn't he just get rid of her? He was no sadist. This game with the collar and chains was just that, a game. He wasn't into bondage; he was into helping and caring for other people. The loss of his first wife had taught him a terrible lesson; just like what had happened to her mother had taught her something. Would he buy that?

She waited for him to finish with the sofa. At last he turned around. He looked at her, "Well?"

She stayed in her corner. She looked up at him. He was a blur, "May I have my glasses? Please?"

He looked back over across the sofa. Yes they were there. He leaned over, picked them up and started toward her, "You have something to tell me, a confession maybe?"

It was as good as over and she knew it. All she ever wanted was walking toward her, and in her blind hatred for all men she probably would lose him. She gave up, no more games, no more tricks.

In a soft low and deliberate voice she started. She sniffed and then hiccoughed, "OK, I guess you know all about me, or at least you know what other people have told you. Well it's all true."

She saw his face start to harden, she dropped her head. She tried to wipe her face again, but the manacles and the chain kept getting in the way.

She had to find another way to tell her story, "I knew about your wife before I came. I knew she died of something. I also knew when she was alive you weren't the same man you are today." She watched. He wasn't softening.

Steve was listening. He was thinking about his own problems as much as he was thinking about what she was saying. He also watched and saw how helpless she looked. She looked so vulnerable an so innocent squished over in the corner. It occurred to him how much he'd always hated the gazebo. She was so mussed up. She needed to be fixed up. He had this terrific urge to pick her up and hold her, squeeze her close and smother her in kisses.

He was getting excited, all hot and bothered. He thought about how cool she'd look in a black low cut dress with dark nylons,black high heeled shoes, hair done up in a bun with her dark glasses giving her that super intellectual aura she so easily exhibited. She'd have her hand on his arm, and he'd be walking through a crowd of richly dressed people like he was the King of England and she was his queen.Prince William, or whoever you are,eat your heart out!

God was he a stupid ass hole! His stomach was all churned up. What if she got so mad she left him? He had to be the stupidest man alive. Still, he pretended to be tough, "Go on."

Cathy thought this was her only chance, "Look you weren't this All American Good Guy when your wife was alive. I mean before you found out about her cancer, you were something of a jerk. I know who you were. You cut out on her. You lied, you broke her heart." She watched. She knew she was telling the truth. He'd been a cad. She could tell he didn't like it, he was pissed, but this was all she had.

He sat down opposite her, "Can you give me one good reason why I shouldn't just kick you out?" It was a bluff and he knew it. He'd never kick her out. If she chose to leave he'd beg her to stay.

This was it, her moment of truth, "I suppose you could do that, you could do that, and feel good about it, at least for a while. But you can't really, and you won't."

Play it tough he told himself, "Oh yeah, why not?"

She felt like she was on the Titanic cruising for an iceberg, "I'll tell you why not." Well here goes she thought, "First you're better than that. You couldn't just do that, just throw me out I mean. It's just not in you. You see you're basically a very good person, probably the best man I've ever met. Besides I know you love me."

He stiffened. She had him and she knew it.

She watched him stiffen. He was going to kick her out, she knew it. Still She kept at it, "You do love me. I know you do. I know you do because I know you. I didn't at first, but I do now. When I first came along I thought you were just another self-serving male egomaniac. Well I found out you're not, and in finding out about you I found out about myself." She prayed this was the right track. It was her last chance. She asked, "You listening?"

He was scared to death. He was the only man he knew who could screw up a two car parade. H e was going to lose her.He nodded.

"I was a bad person, a monster, but I'm not anymore. You fixed that. You changed me." She squirmed around, the chains on her feet rattled, "Your wife died. It hurt. You suffered. You changed. You went from a simpleton to a real man. Well that goodness you found in yourself rubs off. It's rubbed off on me. Don't ask me how, but it did. Who knows? Maybe I was ready? I watched you with those children. At first I just watched, then I wanted to help, then I wanted to be like you, do what you do, to be to those kids what you are to them."