Chapter 1 – The Fraternity House
Richard von Rich (aka ‘Richie’ or just ‘Rich’ for short) had never had an easy life. He was the seventh son of a seventh son; which meant his family was large as well as poor. As the legend about such people attests, he always had premonitions of trouble that would always come true. This was not because of any special psychic power in his possession however; he was simply in trouble so often that such premonitions only made perfect sense.
For one thing, being the seventh son meant he had six older brothers. And it seemed like the favorite past-time of all six was to torment the seventh endlessly. Occasionally it would be one of the other younger siblings who got victimized by his elders (in which case Rich was either a mere spectator or – more likely – happened to be completely absent from the proceedings when a handy victim was required), but usually it was a case of the oldest six uniting to gang up on the seventh whenever Rich happened to be around.
The usual game was to pounce on Rich when their parents were away (which they often were), tie him up from head to foot with various coils of clothesline, and then leisurely torment him – often while simultaneously watching TV, playing a video-game, or engaging in more active sport such as football outdoors. They didn’t beat him up or anything; at least, not severely. But they did like to tickle torture him, apply thick liquids like honey or coats of paint on him, or simply leave him tied to a tree or staked out in the backyard to free himself as best as he could. This appeared to be a never-ending source of amusement for his older siblings, and a never-ending source of the reverse for Rich himself.
Things got no better even when he got older. There were no further younger siblings his brothers (or Rich himself) could turn their attentions to in his place. Even had there been, Rich suspected that they would have been his victimizers as well rather than fellow victims. Even when his brothers grew old enough one by one to move of the house, they stayed around instead and continued to torment him day in and day out. Unlike Rich, they never seemed to get tired of that particular activity.
Worse, while each of his older brothers grew tall, rugged, athletic, and strong; Rich was (as his brothers crudely put it), the ‘runt of the litter’. Even by age 17 he was still only 5’ 0” and weighed in at less than 100 pounds. He was in fact no bigger (and in fact looked no older) than most boys were at age 12. His slender build and the fact that he wore glasses aggravated matters even further – they made him look like a total nerd incapable of defending himself. In fact, even the neighborhood boys years younger than him often saw in Rich an easy target for their aggressions and occasionally tackled, tied and tormented him the same way his own brothers did.
The last straw came one day when Rich – by then as I said seventeen-years-old - was minding his own business walking home along a path running through a grass-covered field from high school. A larger kid that he’d never even seen before stepped into sight from behind a tree (apparently having been waiting for him), casually walked up to him, pushed him down to the ground, bully-pinned him, and sat on him for over an hour slapping his face and laughing at him. And his tormentor turned to be only eleven years old!
Unable to get any support from his uncaring parents, his even less-caring siblings, the teachers of his school, or anyone else in authority, Rich ran away from home in disgust and humiliation.
No one bothered to look for him. His parents were relieved of the burden of caring for him (and wished his older siblings would follow his example), while his brothers simply sought other easy (if not quite as safe) targets for their fun and games – such as the school nerds and too-passive girlfriends and boyfriends.
Life as a transient didn’t suit Rich very well. It seemed like everyone he met was abusive to him in some way now – even if in different ways than his brothers and the neighborhood kids had been. He could not find a normal job, and refused to stoop to pimping himself out (though he was often hit upon by older and usually much larger guys he managed to hitch rides from). After walking and hitch-hiking from his home town to a richer community 100 miles away, he spent the summer wandering around looking for a job and a place to stay – ultimately finding neither. No one wanted to hire a high-school dropout who looked like he wasn’t even past puberty.
At the beginning of September, Rich began to realize that if his situation did not improve soon, he would still be homeless when winter came. The mere thought of being literally out in the cold made him shiver. As he sought for a workable solution for what seemed like the thousandth time, he came upon the campus of a large, elite-looking school. He read a sign that said:
Foster’s Boarding School
For Gifted Children
Grades 6-12
For Gifted Children
Grades 6-12
There was no doubt in Rich’s mind that by gifted they were not referring to scholastic ability but rather to the wealth and prestige of the students’ families.
Rich kids.
The irony of his own name while being so destitute struck Rich like a physical blow.
There was no help for it, he finally decided; Rich was going to have to steal from the rich for his living. Screw them; they could afford it!
Rich cased the campus and discovered that there was one boys’ dorm that seemed to be separated from the rest in its own isolated corner of the campus. He soon discovered that it was not an actual dormitory but a fraternity house with a membership that was exclusive even by the high standards of this school. Only the wealthiest kids of all lived here, and they evidently enjoyed a privacy and self-autonomy usually enjoyed only by adults. There was bound to be plenty of valuable and easily portable loot for the taking here!
There was a problem however; the fraternity house and about an acre of the grounds all around it was surrounded on all sides by a brick wall ten feet high. The only easy access to the house was a small gate that was kept locked at all times except when in use by the students going to or coming back from classes.
But Rich was undaunted by these security arrangements. His small size and life history gave him some advantages. He was quick of foot and lithe of limb, and could scale over or squirm through obstacles that would stop most larger boys – a talent he had been forced to develop to ever- greater perfection his entire life to escape various would-be tormentors. If anyone could get into that fraternity house, loot it, and then escape undetected, it was Richard Von Rich!
Rich planned his strike to coincide with afternoon classes, when – presumably – the fraternity house would be vacant and no one would be there to interrupt him. The students would all be dutifully attending their classes!
Rich just did not understand the psychology of the wealthy adolescent; never having met any.
When Rich succeeded in scaling the wall and climbing into the house through an unlocked first-floor window, he found himself inside a large, luxurious common room. He didn’t get to examine the details very closely however. He was immediately tackled by four boys – all younger but nonetheless larger than he was – who had decided to skip classes for the day for some reason Rich never learned. All were clad in identical preppy clothes – evidently some school uniform – which made them loo soft and effete; but by their movements all were strong and healthy athletes.
Rich was wiry, lithe, and slippery as an eel, but he was simply too badly outnumbered and so was quickly subdued. Three of the boys held him prone on the carpeted floor face down, sitting on his shoulders, back, or legs and holding him almost immobile while the fourth went to fetch some materials to restrain their unexpected visitor. He came back with a set of genuine police handcuffs, ankle cuffs, a couple of small chains, and a bag containing various other materials.
Rich panicked and struggled harder (but no more successfully) than ever. What the hell were mere kids doing with handcuffs and ankle cuffs, for God’s sake? Even his brothers had only ever used ropes, duct tape, and such ordinary everyday materials to restrain him with! No one had ever placed handcuffs on him before! The idea of such things being used on him – like he was a criminal being arrested by the police - frightened him almost senseless.
But there wasn’t a darned thing he could do about it. Though he continued to struggle, it was only a matter of moments before his wrists were forced behind his back and the handcuffs locked around them. The ankle-cuffs were snapped on a mere moment later. Then, to render any further struggles even more ineffectual indefinitely, his legs were bent back behind him until the backs of his heels were mere inches away from his butt and handcuffed hands. A small chain was wrapped around both sets of cuffs, pulled taut, and locked in place with a padlock… trapping Rich in a hog-tie from which there was no possible escape even for someone as limber of body as he was.
His four captors all stood up and backed away from Rich to look over their captive quietly for a moment; straightening their slightly rumpled clothes primly as they did so. They exchanged quiet glances but not a single word was spoken aloud among them. Then, as if they had been in telepathic communication with one another (but in reality – unknown to Rich - simply acknowledging to each other what pre-planned course of action they would now take), the four boys pulled up four chairs, arranged in a circle around the bound and helpless Rich, and seated themselves in them while facing their now-quiescent captive.
“So, to what do we owe the honor of this visit?” one of the boys, a tall, handsome red-head who was evidently the leader of the group, asked Rich with an unexpectedly casual and friendly tone.
Although he was not gagged, Rich merely growled incoherently in response.
“Come-come, let’s have no ill manners now,” the red-headed boy chided Rich gently in a cultured, British sounding voice. “We’re all friends here. Well, perhaps we should introduce ourselves first, yes? Then perhaps you can introduce yourself and tell us what this is all about.”
Rich simply stared neutrally at the boy for a moment and then nodded noncommittally.
“Right then,” the boy continued just as cheerfully as before. He was 5’11”, weighed about 160, had green eyes and coppery red hair, and a face generously peppered with freckles. “I’m Ethan McAllister. I’m from London, England. My folks own the McAllister’s restaurant chain based in Great Britain. I’m 16, and a sixth year – what you yanks call eleventh grade or a junior in high school, yes?”
A second boy introduced himself. This boy was taller (6’ 1”), thinner (weighing about 155 pounds), had dark brown hair and gray eyes, and a slightly darker complexion. “G’day, mate. My name’s Jack Smith; and I’m from Alice Springs in Australia. My dad’s the biggest rancher in the Outback. I’m 15, and I'm in tenth grade.”
The third boy spoke up. He was shorter than the previous two (5’ 9”) but at 165 pounds was somewhat more heavily built (though not stocky and definitely not chubby). His hair was almost the same shade of yellow blonde as Rich’s but he wore it much more shortly. His eyes were a bright and almost hypnotic shade of blue. “I’m Tim Robinson,” he told Rich in a deep but gentle-sounding voice with a Texan accent. “I’m from Dallas. My folks own several oil fields. “I’m also 15 and a sophomore.”
The fourth and evidently youngest boy of the four now introduced himself. He was the shortest and most lightly built of the four, though at 5’ 8” and 140 pounds he was still noticeably larger than Rich. He was not African American but full-blooded African, with the darkest skin and hair Rich had ever seen on a live human being in his life. “I am Kinto Kithara, from Nairobi,” he told Rich in an unexpectedly deep and mellifluous voice with an accent that added even more to the pleasure of hearing his voice. “My parents are international bankers. I am 14, and in ninth grade.”
After this came an awkward silence as the four boys all awaited Rich’s own introduction.
“Come-come,” Ethan chided Rich, but with a smile and tone as friendly as before. “No need to be shy, kid. Tell us about yourself; that’s a good fellow. We want to know all about you!”
Rich simply kept quiet and maintained a neutral expression as he strove to shift to a more dignified position than lying on his side. The other boys simply sat in their chairs and silently watched him; neither tauinting him nor offering to lend a hand. After a short but difficult struggle, Rich managed to get upright on his knees and gotten himself at least slightly less uncomfortable than before. Well, at least the handcuffs were no longer digging into his hip or his wrists where he been laying on them, and the thick carpet was comfortable on his knees that now supported much of his weight.
It then belatedly occurred to him that kneeling in front of his captors wasn't as much more dignified a position as he was hoping for. In act, it made him feel even more inferior to these rich kids than ever! But he was unable to stand up while hogtied and flopping back down on his side seemed no better (and was definitely more painful), so Rich gamely decided to suck it up and remain just as he was. At least the boys watching him didn't seem inclined to rub it in with further taunts; they simply continued to wait for him to answer Ethan's questions.
“Well, there’s no rush if you feel a need to think it over,” Ethan continued cheerfully when Rich showed no inclination to spill his life history. “We’re not going anywhere. And neither are you. I hope you’re nice and comfortable, dear chap… because we insist on maintaining the pleasure of your company for as long as it takes to…”
“All right, already!” Rich snapped ungraciously. “I get the idea, so shut up for Chrissake! Geez! Are you punks really this dense? I’m just a runaway schnook down on his luck, and I snuck into the place hoping to lift a few knickknacks and maybe some loose cash or a credit card or something. So now you know I was up to no good. So why don’t you just call the police to haul me off to jail and get it over and done with already?”
The four boys seated around Rich look at one another once again; still exchanging looks but no words spoken out loud. Then they all looked down at Rich again, who was still glaring at Ethan with undisguised annoyance and ill-concealed envy – both for his wealth and for his (in Rich’s mind) superior size and physical condition.
“My dear fellow, why should we do that?” Ethan asked with what sounded like genuine puzzlement and even a hint of distress.
Rich stared back blankly; his expression changing from annoyance and envy to a puzzlement that almost matched Ethan’s. “Well, duh-h!” he retorted with considerable – if somewhat lessened – anger. “I’m a burglar… I guess. Burglar’s get sent off to jail.”
“Not at all dear fellow,” Ethan replied gently. “Rather, you’re a stray. Hell, you're just a little lost puppy. How old are you? Twelve? Hell, you don’t need to be punished. What you need is someone to take care of you. And guess what? We’re social minded chaps. We spotted you looking at the house earlier and debated whether we should come out and invite you for a spot of refreshment and maybe help you out. Well, now here you are… and now we’ve jolly-well decided that we’re going to keep you here with us for a while.”
The other three boys smiled broadly when Ethan said that, and Kinto even cheered loudly.
Rich was nonplussed. It was evident from his small size and boyish face that, like many people did when they first saw him, these boys thought he was only a kid; younger than any of them whereas he was actually the oldest by over a year. Maybe he could use that to his advantage for once; if they thought he was only 12 or so years old they might take more pity on him than they might if they knew his true age. With luck and a little persuasion, they might simply free him from the restraints, feed him, maybe give him some clean clothes and a little spare change and then let him go.
“Uhhhh… Ohhh kaayy,” Rich replied hesitantly. "I guess I've got nowhere better to go."
“Good, it’s nice to have some company from the common masses for a change,” Ethan replied cheerfully. The other three boys seemed equally happy and exchanged high-fives.
But there was something about their exuberance that made Rich feel a bit ill at ease. They seemed awfully excited about having a dirty boy in bedraggled clothes spending time with them. The kids in his own neighborhood were never even half this friendly. Unused to such decent treatment, Rich was immediately suspicious. However, what choice did he really have at the moment?
“So what’s your name, kid?” Kinto asked Rich as the four of them stood up and surrounded him; not menacingly but in evident curiosity.
“Uh… I’m Rich… uhh, Richie,” Rich replied hesitantly; not wanting to use his usual nick-name under these circumstances for fear of being laughed at. A poor kid saying he was Rich… well, that’d be rich, all right!
“Pleased to meet you Richie,” Jack called out with his Australian accent. “Say, are you hungry?”
“You bet,” Richie replied hopefully.
“Well then, let’s get you more comfortable and we’ll fix you something to eat,” Ethan replied as he and Kinto crouched down beside Richie - who was still hog-tied and lying on the floor – and unlocked the chains that held his wrists and ankles together.
Richie remained still; expecting the boys to remove the handcuffs and ankle-cuffs from him as well. But instead, they grasped Richie by his still-bound arms and started to lift him to his feet; assisted by Tim and Jack. Once Richie was standing on his feet, they continued to hold him by the arms as they began to walk him over to a doorway at the far side of the room.
“Come on, the pantry is this way,” Ethan told Richie as he began tugging him along.
“Wait! Aren’t you going to take these things offa me first?” Richie asked in puzzlement.
“Why? Are they too tight?” Ethan asked glibly as he casually checked Rich’s handcuffs and ankle-cuffs for himself. “Naw, they seem just right to me.”
“Well, it’s just that I thought you were gonna let me go?” Richie asked hopefully - trying with ill-concealed patience to hide his annoyance at his still being handcuffed and hobbled as they crossed the doorway into a large and spacious kitchen.
“No, I said we were going to keep you,” Ethan pointed out with a grin as he led Richie to a dining table surrounded by several stout wooden chairs. “Now take a seat and we’ll get you nice and comfortable while we fix you some lunch.’
Richie allowed himself to be led to a chair (which Jack kindly pulled out for him) and sat down in it; his hands still cuffed behind him and his ankles still hobbled together.
Before he quite knew what was happening, Richie suddenly felt ropes being wound around his lower arms and the back of the chair.
“HEY!” Richie protested as he tried to stand up again. But Jack suddenly leaned forward and placed his hands firmly down on Richie’s shoulders; keeping the handcuffed boy firmly seated while Kinto and Ethan quickly and efficiently tied Richie’s arms to the back of the chair. Kinto was tying Richie’s lower arms and wrists. Ethan dealt with Richie’s elbows and upper arms while also looping the rope around Richie’s waist and diagonally across his chest and shoulders. Within two minutes, Richie’s upper body was effectively welded to his chair.
Tim was not a mere spectator during all this. He had tied the end of another rope around the chain forming Richie’s hobbles and pulled on it to force Richie to bend his bends and tuck his lower legs underneath the seat of the chair. With his feet now pulled completely off the floor and tucked underneath him, more ropes were applied around Richie’s legs and the legs of the chair and soon rendered them equally immobile. Only his head and neck had unrestricted movement.
“There, now that’s not too uncomfortable, now is it?” Ethan asked kindly.
Richie’s answer was unprintable and involved actions impossible to the human anatomy.
“Now, now; don’t be rude if you want to be fed,” Ethan told Richie mildly. “And we’d really like you to be clean, well-fed, wearing fresh clothes, and generally just at your best when you meet the others later.”
“Others?” Richie asked blankly. “What others?”
“Well, mate, you don’t think it’s just the four of us living in this huge house, do you?” Jack retorted with a grin. “There’s something like thirty of us living here right now. Of course, the school year’s just begun. Once we have initiations, we’ll have several more members joining us too. But they’ll all want to meet you once they get back from classes. Then we can have a proper welcome home party for our new resident mascot! We’ll even set up a room all for you and everything. Won’t that be fun?”
Richie felt a bit more encouraged. Maybe this wouldn’t’ be so bad after all; and it would be nice to have a place to sleep and have a few friends rather than a bunch of tormenting brothers and neighborhood punks.
Little did Richie suspect that his experiences with his siblings and neighborhood kids would be sheer bliss compared with what these fraternity rich kids were already planning for him!
tbc