Her fingers fumbled with the unfamiliar phone until she hit the right buttons.
“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”
“What… He’s…” Silas turned Henry over. Blood covered the side of his face, but his eyes were open. There was blood on a nearby stone. He’d obviously hit his head. “Henry, he’s…”
“Ma’am? Where are you?”
“Dead. Augstown… Dead.” Her voice trembled, and her hands shook. Tears threatened to fall but somehow, they didn’t. All she could do was stare at the man she loved, someone who had just winked at her, who now lay at her feet motionless.
Silas stood and grabbed the phone from her. “This is Silas Hope. We’re at the Augstown cemetery. A man has fallen and hit his head on a gravestone, but I think he might have had a heart attack or something first. He’s not breathing. What can we do?”
Calliope put her hand against Henry’s warm cheek. The sound of a woman’s voice circled around them. He must have put the phone on speaker. Silas thrust the phone in her hand.
“Check his pulse,” the woman was saying. “If you don’t find one, you need to start CPR. Does he have a history of heart troubles?”
“No,” Calliope said.
Silas tipped Henry’s neck back. She watched him press his fingers against his skin. It was obvious to her he found nothing, because he was moving his fingers from place to place, searching for a heartbeat.
“Ma’am, is the victim your husband?”
Victim? Who the hell was she talking about? The earth spun faster. “Yes.”
“Ma’am, what is your husband’s name? Is he diabetic?”
“His name is Henry Ingalls, he’s thirty-four years old and no, he’s not diabetic.”
The woman’s voice seemed to drift away, and then she spoke again. “A sheriff’s deputy is in the area, and he’s pulling up next to your cars now. He needs to know exactly where you are. Can you yell, or move around so he can find you?”
“We’re at the back of the property, in the cemetery. I’ll run toward him.” He stood and put his hand on her shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”
Calliope nodded. She heard Silas’ feet as they hit the dirt and grass. He was screaming that they were down here. There was the sound of a siren and a car as it made its way along the rutty, overgrown area.
The tears that had threatened her earlier now stained her cheeks. She clasped Henry’s hand and squeezed, hoping, praying, she would get a response. There was none.
“Henry, I love you.”
She closed her eyes and in her mind she heard his laughter, felt the warmth of his hand against her cheek.
Oh, Calliope, you know I love you too, my little slut. And I always will.
She laid her head against his chest and sobbed.
Chapter 2
“Get your hands off me!” Calliope pulled away from the paramedic’s grasp. “I don’t need your help, my husband does. Go and do something for him.”
“Mrs. Ingalls,” the woman’s voice was soft, comforting, “your husband is dead. There’s nothing we can do for him. I just want to check your blood pressure. See how you’re doing.”
“I’m fine.” The woman touched her arm again, and Calliope balled her hand into a fist. “Don’t touch me! Leave me alone!”
“Calliope.” Silas Hope was next to her now, his hand on her arm. “They just want to help.”
“This is your fault!” She threw her fist against his chest. “You should have stopped him, not let him go in there.” Calliope started to pound on his chest, hitting him as hard as she could. In the back of her mind she could hear Henry yelling at her to stop, to get ahold of herself and behave.
But she ignored the phantom commands. She continued to hit Silas until he grasped her wrists in his hands. She kicked out, he sidestepped the assault then turned her quickly. Before she knew it, he had her wrapped in his arms, her back to his front.
“Calm down. It won’t help matters if you hurt yourself, or me.” His command was not soft, not calm. She struggled in his arms but he held her close, and as the fight left her she realized she was screaming, that her chest rose and fell rapidly with her exertions. She couldn’t breathe through her nose, and she took deep, gasping breaths through her mouth.
Her face was wet with tears, and snot ran from her nose.
“That’s better,” the man holding her prisoner said. “Take deep breaths.”
The paramedic was back, holding a cloth in front of her face. She put it up to Calliope’s nose and gently moved it back and forth.
“Blow,” she said. Calliope shook her head, trying to dislodge the woman’s touch. “It’s okay; I have three kids, and I can tell you I’ve seen worse things than snot. Blow.”
Calliope followed her instructions, grateful when she found she could breathe normally again. “Henry.”
“Shush, try to take a deep breath and be still for a few moments,” Silas said. The deep concern in his voice brought it all back. Her husband was dead, lying not fifteen feet away from her.
Men and women in uniform, including the first one on the scene. He’d knelt down on one side of Henry while Silas was on the other side. They’d performed CPR until the paramedics came. She remembered the first one had said, with great care in his voice, “There’s nothing we can do. He’s gone. I’m so sorry.”
“Who can I call for you?”
Calliope stiffened in his arms. Call for her? What the hell was he talking about? Who could she call? She and her parents had never been close, and they’d never been fans of Henry. She had two sisters, but neither of them really cared either. Henry’s father was dead, and his mother was somewhere in Europe with her new boyfriend. He was an only child. The only man who really gave a damn about her was lying fifteen feet away. Dead.
If she had an emergency, it was Henry she would call. Henry who would take care of things, who would make it all right again.
Oh God, what was she going to do?
“Jolie.” The name came out before she even knew she’d thought it.
“She was Henry’s agent, right?”
What do you mean was? “Yes, and mine. The number is… It’s… Henry’s phone… I…”
“I’ve got it,” Silas said as he let her go. “I called her, remember? That’s how I got in touch with Henry.”
Henry. She needed to do something about Henry. She turned to where the group of people stood. She could see Henry’s feet, the boots he’d bought just two days ago in Boston sticking up toward the sky.
“I need to do something about Henry. I need to…” What did she need to do? Call a funeral home? Funeral. She had to plan… she had to… she had to…
She turned away from the group and clutched her stomach, seconds before she vomited. The towel was in front of her face again. It moved against her mouth and Calliope grasped at the hand that held it.
“I… Please.” Henry, oh God, Henry. Please let this be a dream. A horrible dream.
“It’s all right, Mrs. Ingalls.” The paramedic was rubbing the small of her back with her other hand. “I’ll be right here.”
The towel was gone, and there was movement next to her. A bottle of water appeared in front of her. “Rinse out your mouth. It’ll make you feel better.”
Feel better? How could that be possible? She stood and took the bottle before taking a huge swig. She swirled the water around in her mouth, then spit it back out.
“Mrs. Ingalls?” She turned toward the voice. Silas stood with the deputy who’d first arrived.
“My name is Chuck Stillman. I’m going to have Silas take you to the hotel.”
“But what about… Henry, I… his bo…” The word body stuck in her throat, threatening to make her lose the little bit of food that was still there. “His bo… I…”
“We’ll take care of that. We’ll have him transported to Boston for an autopsy. I’ll let you know when we can release him to you, and you can make arrangements from there.”
“Arrangements?
Why does there have to be an autopsy?”
Silas was back at her side, his hand on her forearm. But it was the deputy who spoke.
“The medical examiner believes your husband suffered an aneurysm. But we have to make sure.”
Calliope nodded. “How can he know that by just looking at him?”
“He’s been doing this a long time,” Stillman said. “But the autopsy will confirm his conclusions. It shouldn’t take more than a day or two.”
“Two days? To cut up my husband’s body?” Body. Oh God the word came out so easy this time. It sounded so real, too real.
Henry was dead. And they were going to… She turned and heaved, the remainder of her breakfast flying toward the ground.
The sweet paramedic was there within seconds, wiping her mouth once again. “You go with Silas now,” she said after Calliope had once again rinsed out her mouth. “Go on now, I’ll check on you later.”
“I can’t leave Henry,” she whispered.
“Sweetie, Henry’s not of this world anymore. The body’s nothing more than a shell to house the soul. Once the body dies, the soul moves on.”
Calliope had the image of hiring a van to help Henry reach his new destination. Of course, she knew better, but—
“Calliope.” Silas’ hands were on her shoulders. “Come with me. I’ll take you back to the hotel.”
“No, I want to… stay with Henry. Go away.” She tried to duck out from under his touch.
“Calliope. I’m not asking.” His grip tightened a little. “You can’t stay with him. You need to come with me.”
Her body was cold, a mass of shivers seemed to overtake her, and she wrapped her arms around herself. Maybe she was dreaming. Yes, that was it. She’d kicked off the covers in the middle of the night and she was having a nightmare.
Wake up.
Wake up.
Wake up!
“Calliope.” There was more emphasis behind her name now. His touch was just a little tighter.
“I need my purse and camera bag, I can’t…” Henry would be furious with her for leaving the equipment lying around. It was expensive. If something happened to the cameras, his anger would not result in a spanking, but in a fight between the two of them, something that hadn’t happened between them in ages.
“We’ll bring all that to you later,” Stillman said. “You go with Silas now.”
She jerked away from Silas. “No! I need it now. I can’t leave it. It’s our work… it’s…” Great, heaving sobs wracked her body. Arms were around her, holding her close to a chest. The paramedic took her hands, squeezed.
“You should take her to a doctor,” the woman said. Who was she talking to? Henry? What was wrong with her? “Or have one meet you at the hotel. Do you need me to call someone?”
“No.” The arms around her loosened. “I’ll take care of things.”
He was standing in front of her now. She continued to cry, held up she was sure by his hands on her shoulders. She looked up at him, at his dark hair hanging around his shoulders. Henry should be there, standing in front of her, telling her to control herself.
Get ahold of herself. Henry always told her she needed to master her emotions, to keep herself in check. She tried to do that, tried to stop crying, but she couldn’t. Instead, the sobbing seemed to grow worse.
People around her were talking, but she couldn’t understand what they were saying.
Henry, she wanted to hear Henry’s voice. But she would never hear Henry’s voice again. It was gone, forever. In one small tic he’d been taken from her; he’d left her alone.
Her knees gave out. Strong arms clasped her before she fell to the ground. People around her were yelling, but she tuned them out. Nothing mattered anymore.
Henry was gone. Her life was over.
The car swayed, and Calliope grasped the armrest. She glanced at Silas, whose gaze was focused on the road. They’d stopped at a fast-food stand earlier. The drink he’d insisted she needed sat in a holder, untouched. The smell of grease seemed to permeate the car.
People always focused on food after a death, didn’t they? She remembered when her uncle had died, and people had brought her mother food. Her mother had nodded and smiled at people, then put dishes in the freezer. Six months later she’d thrown out the food and returned the plates.
Mother. She thought long and hard. That word should make her remember something. And then it hit her. “I need to call Henry’s mother.”
“Jolie’s taking care of it,” Silas replied. “Drink something. Eat one of the burgers.”
Her stomach churned at the thought. “No.”
“At least drink.” His voice was deep, authoritative. “When you vomited you lost fluids and nutrients you’ll need.”
Things she needed? What she needed was Henry. She thought back to that morning, how he’d bound her to the tree, then whipped her while Silas watched. Her ass throbbed, and she closed her eyes, letting the memory wash over her.
“Who does this ass belong to?” She could hear his voice as if he were speaking to her right now.
“You, Sir.”
“What?” Silas’ question made her shiver. She clasped her upper arms. She wanted to tune him out. He shouldn’t be here. The memory of the first time Henry had fucked her came front and center.
“Where can I put my dick, Calliope? Where would you like it?”
“It’s not where I would like it, Sir, it’s where you would like it.” She moaned softly as the image intensified. “My mouth, my pussy, my ass—they’re all yours.”
“What a perfect answer.”
There was pressure at her anus; the click of the shutter broke the silence.
He slid the head of his cock inside her. Click, whirl.
“This ass.” Click, whirl. “Is mine.” Click, whirl.
The burn intensified as her ass swallowed more of his cock.
He’d paused every few seconds as he’d entered her. He’d told her it was to give her time to adjust to the new sensations. But it was also, he’d said, so he could document their first fuck. The click of the shutter competed with her groans as he’d worked his way up her ass.
When he’d filled her completely, he’d slapped her bottom. “One day when we’re old and gray, I’ll host a showing and title it, ‘The Claiming of the little slut.’ There will be pictures of my prick in your mouth, your ass, your pussy. Photos of welts from crops, belts, the whip; hard nipples pinched by clothespins and clamps. It’ll be amazing. My best work ever.”
Then he’d put down the camera and grasped her hips, pounding his cock into her.
It had hurt.
And she’d loved it.
Henry. I need Henry. But Henry was gone, never to return.
“I’m going to be sick.”
The car was already stopped, and she opened the door. She tried to jump out, but something kept her in place. The seat belt. She grabbed for the release, but Henry—no Silas—clasped her hand and squeezed.
“Relax. We’re at the hotel. Take a deep breath.”
“He whipped me.”
“Who does this ass belong to, little slut?” The leather sang through the air and kissed her bare cheeks. Calliope gasped and jumped in her seat.
He squeezed her hand tighter. “I know. I watched.”
“It’s my fault. If he hadn’t done that, maybe he would be okay. I forced it. I…”
“First, it was my fault, now it’s yours?”
Calliope glanced over to where Silas shook his head. “It’s nobody’s fault. Henry died a natural death. There was nothing either of us did to cause it or could have done to prevent it.”
Oh God, she wanted to believe him. But someone had to take the blame, didn’t they? People didn’t just die when they were only thirty-four years old?
He let go of her hand. “Let’s go inside. We’ll sit in the main room and eat, then you can go and take a nap. How does that sound?”
Nap? It was only… “What time is it?”
> “A little after five,” he said. He picked up the bag and indicated her drink. “Grab that and let’s go inside.”
“How did it get to be so late?” As the words left her mouth, she remembered that she’d fainted. “How long was I out?”
“Not very long,” Silas said, gently. “But they kept you there, to make sure you were all right. Now, grab your drink.”
He exited the car, and Calliope took off her seat belt. She slid out of the seat, keeping a firm grasp on the door. He was by her side now, but he didn’t touch her, didn’t treat her as if she were an invalid who needed help to walk.
She’d barely taken three steps into the building, though, when the clerk rushed to her, gathering her in a giant hug.
“Oh, you poor, poor dear!” The woman rubbed her hands up and down Calliope’s back. “You’re so young to have this happen to you.”
Calliope wanted to ask if it would be any different if she were say forty, or fifty, or even sixty.
You poor dear, your husband just died.
Yes, but you expect it at my age. Would you like some tea? Or some of this delicious food people have brought? I’m okay, really. Maybe tomorrow we can catch a movie.
She pushed aside the sarcastic thoughts and tried to break free of the woman’s arms.
“The sheriff came by,” the clerk continued. Calliope felt horrible that she couldn’t remember the woman’s name. “He wanted to check your room for,” she looked around, “drugs and things, I think. I told him he had to come back when you were here.”
She turned to Silas. “He’s got a deputy posted outside. You’re supposed to see him before you go into the room.”
“He’ll find… the… Silas, no.” Had Henry put away their toys before they’d left that morning? What about the photo album they carried with them? She fixed a horrified gaze on Silas, realizing the kindly clerk had turned suspicious.
The woman probably thought she was hiding drugs, or maybe that she’d drugged Henry before they’d left the hotel, that she’d killed him.
“Find what?” the clerk asked.
“Personal things,” Calliope replied. She saw understanding dawn on Silas’ face. He waved her toward the hallway.
Calliope's Master Page 3
