“Come on, Calliope, let’s go talk to him. Is it Chuck Stillman?”
“No,” the clerk said, her warmth gone. “It’s Marcus Wilkinson.”
“Thank you,” Silas said. He put his hand on her back and ushered her away.
“I have to hide things.”
“No,” Silas said, “you don’t. Chuck’s a Dom, and if they question any toys you have, he’ll stand up for you. Plus, you’ve done nothing wrong.”
“They won’t understand.” Her voice sounded weak, even to her.
“Who cares?” Silas kept pressure on her back, and they moved down the hallway.
“I do,” she said, stopping. “If they came here, they think I killed him.”
“No, they don’t.” Silas stepped in front of her. “Listen to me, when a man as young as Henry dies suddenly, they’re going to examine everything, and that includes his hotel room. A whip or a dildo has nothing to do with his death.”
“Pictures.” She swallowed hard. “There’s a photo album I don’t want anyone to see.”
“Where is it?”
“I don’t know.” She closed her eyes, trying to recall that morning. “Henry was looking at it while I went down on him. I was blindfolded, and I didn’t see where he put it. It could be in the camera bag or… the camera bags! Oh my God, I didn’t get them. Henry will be angry!”
“Relax.” He stroked her arm. “They’re in the car. I got everything.”
Her throat threatened to close. Silas put his arm around her and pulled her into his chest. “Remember to take deep breaths. Don’t pass out on me again.”
There was a slight inflection to his voice showing he was trying to make a joke, keep her from going around the bend again.
“And don’t worry about toys,” he said. “Henry wouldn’t have left anything sitting around for a maid to find, would he?”
Calliope tried to catch her breath but she was crying again, her shoulders shaking. She shook her head as Silas gingerly patted her back. “It’s going to be okay, Calliope. I won’t let anything happen. I promise. I’ll talk to Marcus before he searches the bags.”
Searches the bags? Fuck, why was this happening? And how could he say it was going to be okay? Nothing was ever going to okay ever again.
“Silas?” She lifted her head from his shoulder and turned her tear-streaked face to a man standing not far from them. He looked as if he were in his fifties, and he gave her a gentle smile. “Mrs. Ingalls?”
She nodded, then hiccupped, wiping her face with the back of her hand.
“I’m Marcus Wilkinson. I need to check your room. Unless you’d rather I had a warrant.”
Warrant? That sounded so horrid. She tried to keep her voice steady. “No, I don’t care.” Silas was right. What she and Henry did together was their business, and they’d done nothing wrong. She reached for her camera case, realized it wasn’t there. Then realization hit, slammed into her with such brute force that it made her tremble. She backed away from them, dividing her glance between the two men.
“Henry… has the… He has the… key.” And then she screamed, the sound reverberating in the hallway. She dropped her cup, the drink splashing her legs as it crashed onto the floor. “Henry has the key!”
She heard doors opening, heard voices tell people to go back to their rooms. Calliope shut them out as she tried to turn and run. Maybe if she ran far enough, she’d get away from this nightmare. It would be over.
Strong arms clasped her from behind. She flayed out her arms, heard a grunt of pain.
“Calliope! Stop it!” She threw her foot backward in a hard kick, heard another grunt. “Stop it right now! Would Henry want this?”
“Who gives a fuck!” Someone grabbed her wrists, gathered them together. Then the arms that had been around her stomach loosened and refastened on her, keeping her arms at her side.
“I called for a doctor,” the deputy said. “And I’ll open the room.”
“You need to get ahold of yourself,” Silas said. “Damn near took my eye out.”
She knew she should apologize, but she didn’t. She allowed him to walk her down the hallway. Inside the room, he released her long enough to let her sit on the bed, and then quickly grasped her wrists in his fists. She saw the deputy watching her warily.
“I’m going to let go now and you’re going to stay here. Understand?”
“Yes, Silas.” She looked toward their luggage. Henry’s bag sat open against the wall, full of his clothes. What was she going to do with his clothes?
There was a knock at the door and the deputy opened it. A man stepped inside carrying a black bag. She heard him introduce himself to the men, but she didn’t really listen. Then he knelt down next to her.
“Mrs. Ingalls, I’m going to check your blood pressure and your pulse, then I’m going to give you a sedative to help you sleep.”
Sleep, yes, that sounded good. When she woke up, she and Henry would laugh about the nightmare. When she woke up everything would be fine.
“Take a look at this, tell me what you think.” Calliope opened her eyes to glance up at Henry. She blinked, then closed her eyes in relief. He held out the camera for her to examine the screen.
There was a photo of a woman on there, wearing dark colors. Her dress covered her from head to toe, and she stood in the middle of tall grass. Pinpricks of bright light surrounded her, in different shades of blues, reds and oranges—the only color in the frame.
“What is it?” She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around his thigh. It was hard and muscular, the feel warm and comforting. She stroked him, letting the feel of his body sink into hers.
God, how she loved him, how she needed him. She knew sleep would make things better.
“I used a rainbow filter to get that otherworldly feel to it. I think it worked, don’t you?”
She opened one eye and glanced at the photo. The woman did have an ethereal look about her, the colors reflecting off her body as if they were a halo.
“Yes, it worked.” She kissed his thigh. “Henry, I had the most awful nightmare.”
He stroked her hair, his touch gentle. “It’s going to be okay, Calliope. I hate it as much as you do, well, probably more, but I promise you, I didn’t do it on purpose.”
Fear seeped into her bones. “What?”
“Just remember I love you. Don’t die yourself. Promise me.”
“Henry?” She sat up. The bright pinpricks of light from the photo shot out from the camera and surrounded her husband, making him glow. “Henry!”
“Calliope.” Someone shook her, their hands tight on her arms. “Wake up, wake up.”
Her eyes flew open, and it took her a few minutes to focus. A woman sat on the bed next to her. She closed her eyes and groaned. “Jolie.”
“I made coffee when you started to stir.” Jolie’s agent’s voice was soft, soothing. “And I have some doughnuts, chocolate glazed. They were fresh when I brought them in a few hours ago, but I didn’t want to wake you. You looked so calm.”
“What time is it?”
“A little after noon.”
Noon? She’d slept all night long? What the hell had that doctor given her? She squeezed her eyes shut. The dream had been so real. She could feel Henry’s warmth, smell the woodsy aftershave he always wore, sense his calming presence. Maybe if she stayed here, in this bed, he would come back to her.
“The sheriff needs to talk to you. He said it would be best to talk before tonight. They need to know what you want to do with Henry’s b… I mean, where… um… A local funeral home came to take… Henry… but…”
She didn’t need to complete the sentence. They’d done the autopsy, obviously, and they needed to know what Calliope wanted to do with her husband’s body. Calliope was sure the results of the autopsy had shown Henry’s death to be natural, or they would be holding his body longer.
“It’s in his will.” The words tasted bitter. “It was all set up before I even met him. I think because his dad died
when he was young, and his mother refused to handle things for her own husband that Henry didn’t want to leave things to chance.”
“Henry’s mother’s a bitch,” Jolie said with a laugh. “I talked to her earlier. She asked me to text her the funeral information, so she could send flowers.”
Calliope added a soft laugh. “Tillie’s never cared for anyone but herself. I don’t even know what her last name is now. I’m surprised she didn’t ask if he left her money in the will.”
“Did he?”
“I’m sure.” Calliope sat up. The will. She needed to call Henry’s lawyer. “I have things to do.”
“You need to eat a doughnut.” Jolie sprung up from the bed and walked to the dresser. Calliope watched her pour a cup of coffee and add a packet of artificial sweetener and creamer. Then she picked up a doughnut in a napkin before returning to the bed. She sat down and offered them to Calliope.
She took the items, careful not to spill the coffee. It smelled heavenly, but the doughnut felt hard, and she was sure it would turn to lead in her stomach. She set it on the nightstand, then sipped from the cup.
“When was the sheriff here?”
“About an hour ago,” Jolie replied. “When he saw you were sleeping, he didn’t want to wake you. You’re supposed to call him as soon as you get up, though.”
“I suppose he wants to give me an official cause of death and be done with it.”
“I don’t know, he seemed pretty nice.” Jolie picked up the doughnut and thrust it into Calliope’s hand. “Eat, even if it is pure sugar, or maybe I should say especially since it’s pure sugar. It will give you a good rush.”
The sweet taste of the frosting filled her senses as she nibbled on a piece. Maybe food wasn’t such a bad idea.
“Silas Hope came by this morning too. What a looker. Of course, the black eye you gave him makes him look more dangerous.”
Calliope jerked her attention away from the food. “What?”
“You slammed him pretty good yesterday, I hear. It’s not really a black eye, I guess, but he’s got a pretty nasty bruise. You’ve got quite a right hook on you, or was it a left?”
Jolie laughed in a muted way and Calliope jerked. She’d hit him? The coffee spilled over the top of the cup, sliding over her fingers and landing on the blanket. She put everything on the nightstand. Then she shook off the liquid before burying her head in her hands.
“Henry would be furious with me.”
“Sweetie, Henry’s beyond caring about those things.”
Was he? The dream had been so real. She’d felt him, smelled him. But no, she told herself, what she’d sensed was her wish to have her husband by her side, her desire to think of him alive and not dead, lying in a cabinet somewhere in the dark.
“I feel empty.” The words tasted like bile. “Jolie, I can’t live without Henry.”
“You can, sweetie.” The agent clasped her hand, squeezed. They were so different, with Calliope being soft and a little spongy, and Jolie being thin, with no body fat whatsoever. “I know it feels that way right now, but I promise you it will get better. You won’t die because Henry did.”
“Don’t die yourself. Promise me.” Calliope shuddered as the dream Henry’s words sank in. She started to cry, the tears slow streams down her face.
Jolie gathered her into her arms. The feeling was comforting, but not nearly like the dream had been. “I’ll be with you, I promise. I won’t leave.”
“I,” she hiccupped, “need to call,” another hiccup, “the lawyer.”
Jolie got off the bed and went to the bathroom. The hiccups wracked her body. Jolie returned with a glass of water.
“Slow sips.” Calliope followed her orders, and her breathing returned to normal.
“Henry has the lawyer’s number in his phone. I can’t remember the man’s name, but I’m sure I’ll recognize it.”
“The sheriff has his phone and his wallet,” Jolie said. “He wouldn’t let me sign for them, said you had to do it.”
That sounded right, since she was his wife. It was something she didn’t want to deal with but putting it off wouldn’t make things any better. She needed to take care of things. For Henry. “Then let’s call him and get it over with. I want to leave this godforsaken place and never come back.”
Chapter 3
One year later
Calliope opened the bottle of whiskey and filled a tumbler.
“Here’s to you, Henry. It’s been one year since you died. One year that I haven’t heard your voice. One year that I haven’t felt your touch.” She took a deep gulp, shook her head as the alcohol burned down her throat, then refilled the glass. This time she took a smaller sip.
“Damn you,” she whispered as the alcohol seeped into her stomach. Her body tingled. “Why did you leave me?”
She’d hated the last year, hated everything she’d had to do, from changing bank accounts to learning that their “friends” were really her husband’s friends, and not hers. Mail still came in her husband’s name, and telemarketers still called for Henry Ingalls. The only real friend she still had was Justin. He phoned once a week. And Jolie called to offer jobs—which Calliope always turned down.
Other than that, her days were empty. Her family didn’t even care if she lived or died. Her mother hadn’t called in months.
She drained the glass, then filled it again. This time when she put it up to her mouth, she wrinkled her nose at the strong smell of whisky. Her head was already fuzzy, and more alcohol wouldn’t make this day go by any faster. She drained the glass anyway, shaking her head as she put it on the counter.
Calliope closed her eyes and relived that horrible morning. She could feel the bite of Henry’s belt as he whipped her, see his smile as he walked around the cemetery, and then—she heard Silas Hope’s voice screaming at her to call 9-1-1. The sirens, the EMT who called her “sweetie,” the clerk who said she was a “poor thing.”
“Damn you, Henry,” she repeated. “Get your ass back here.”
She wobbled a little as she moved toward the living room area. She fell rather than sat down on the couch and picked up the remote for the DVD player. She hit Play.
Her naked body, bound between the columns in the dungeon, appeared on the screen. Clamps hung from her nipples, and a thin chain snaked out of her pussy and down to the floor. It was attached to the slave ring on her clit piercing. Her heart clenched as Henry came into the frame. He wore blue jeans and a linen shirt.
“Whose little slut, are you?” He twisted the clamps on her nipples, and she squealed.
“Yours, Master Sir,” she said at the same time the words came out of the speakers. He walked to the wall and ran his fingers over the whips and floggers hanging there. She could hear her ragged breathing in the background as he picked up a flogger, then placed it back on the wall. He did it with two more floggers before picking up a rolled-up single-tail.
He opened his fingers and the whip unfolded, hitting the ground. “Perfect,” he said, glancing over at her.
In real life, Calliope licked her lips. In the recorded scene she’d done the same thing, although she couldn’t see it now. The camera had been trained on Henry. Justin was behind it, following the directions Henry had given him before the scene started.
The recorded Henry gave her an evil grin, then picked up a flogger, the handle a large butt plug. She heard her own gasp as he wiggled it at her. “Let’s take things up a notch, shall we?”
“No, Master Sir, please.” He was walking toward her now, the whip in one hand, the flogger in the other. The camera panned around to show her face, full of anticipation. She swallowed hard as he held the flogger in front of her; the butt-plug handle was very large.
“Get it nice and wet, suck it in.”
Calliope closed her eyes and remembered the feel of the plug going into her mouth. Recorded noises of her sucking and gagging on the toy filled the room. But so did Henry’s murmurs of, “Good little slut. That’s it, get it nice and wet fo
r your Master.”
She knew the scene by heart. Her Master twisted the clamps while she sucked, finally pulling them off, her muffled cry of pain competing with his, “Oh, yes, I like that. Very nice.” He reattached them to her nipples, and she opened her eyes to watch as he pulled her nipples away from her body.
“Hurts so good, doesn’t it, little slut?”
“Yes, Master Sir,” she mumbled around the plug in her mouth. He pulled them back off, and she cried out one more time. The clamps clattered as they hit the floor. Then his hand grasped the plug, and he moved it in and out of her mouth.
She remembered the feel of it fucking her mouth. She watched him move behind her. He put a hand on her hip and tugged. “Bend as far as you can, slut.” The recorded image followed his instructions. On screen, Henry called for the cameraman.
“Get a good shot of her ass as I stuff it. Look at that nicely reddened skin. It’s about to become a whole lot redder.” He’d given her a spanking before the actual scene began, before Justin had arrived, to warm her ass up for the whip.
Now, he worked the plug into her opening, the camera trained on her tight hole as it swallowed the toy. As she watched, Calliope considered going to the dungeon, taking that very toy and working it into her ass. Damn, she needed something in her ass and if she couldn’t have Henry, then she could have the toy he loved to put there.
The camera was behind her, the shot showing the flogger hanging between her legs, the strands touching the floor.
“Keep it inside,” Henry said as he backed up. He flicked the whip against the floor, once, twice, three times. “Beg for it, little slut.”
“Please, Master Sir, whip me; show your slut she belongs to you.”
“Yes, she does.” The whip flew through the air, landing on her ass. Calliope gasped at the same time her recorded image did. A second strike landed, then a third.
Calliope’s hand went between her legs as she watched Henry whip her. The sound of the leather striking her flesh was almost too much to take. She located her clit and twisted. She came instantly, her hips shooting off the couch.
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