Calliope's Master

by Melinda Barron

  “You may tell yourself you didn’t like the weights, but the way your cunt just clenched my cock tells me you liked it, a lot. You just have to be pushed a little more.”

  He unhooked the chain, and it clattered to the floor. Then he clasped her hips again and pounded her even harder. She felt his cock swell as he came, the only sound his deep groans and grunts of satisfaction as he emptied himself inside her.

  When his hips stilled, he grabbed her hair and tilted her head back. He stared into her eyes, and she waited for him to speak. But truthfully, he didn’t have to say anything; his dark look said it all.

  “Mine. All mine.”

  Stacee Montgomery wasn’t what Calliope had expected. She supposed images she’d seen in popular culture, a “New Age” person who would swing incense, wear crystals, and chant, had set her expectations.

  Instead, the medium wore jeans and a sweater. Her long, dark hair hung loose around her shoulders, she had an infectious smile and laughed a lot. How happy could you be, Calliope thought, when you talked to dead people all the time?

  While they’d eaten the delicious roast Nella had prepared, Stacee told them she’d like to see the spots where the ghost had been felt the most, Silas’ house and the ghost town itself.

  Stacee had walked around, glancing at the broken windows. She’d gone to the French doors and touched the wood.

  Stacee made no “She’s here; I feel her,” statements. Instead, she’d asked that they go to the town. Once there, the four of them—Silas, Calliope, Phillip and Nella—had stood in the center while she’d walked around the buildings.

  Finally, after about ten minutes, she turned to Silas. “I’m sensing bricks, in a frame.”

  “Framed bricks?” Calliope could hear the derision in Phillip’s voice, even though his voice was very low. “It would make a heavy picture.”

  “Stop it,” Nella chastised him. “This is serious.”

  “What sort of bricks?” Silas asked.

  “Not bricks… stones. Markers.”

  “Headstones,” Calliope whispered. “Did you tell her about the stones?”

  Silas nodded.

  “Is there somewhere that hasn’t been built up? Some place that’s original to the land?”

  “The building outlines,” Silas responded. “We found some ruined structures, no more than a few bricks and rotten wood. They were in the area that was so heavily overgrown. We’ve mowed down the weeds, but we haven’t done anything else. We were going to leave the outlines for people to walk through, to show the size of the rooms in the 1600s.”

  “Show me.”

  Silas led them around the newly built storefronts down a pathway. Calliope’s heart tightened a little as she remembered this was the area where Henry had walked right before he died. This was where he’d first seen the woman that he’d captured with his camera.

  They stopped at the outline of a building, the stones low to the ground.

  “We have to mark them really well, since they’re low to the ground.” Silas moved to stand next to Stacee. He was pointing at the outline. “This area was treacherous when we first started because we really didn’t know what was where.”

  “Tell me about it,” Phillip said as he rubbed his arm, and Calliope figured he was the one who had been injured while walking out here.

  “Houses,” Stacee said. “People. Babies. Pain.”

  “Babies?” Nella squeaked out the word. “How many babies?”

  “I don’t know.” Stacee sighed heavily. “There’s a pall over this area and a presence, but she won’t talk to me. She’s frightened.”

  “She was pissed last night.” Silas held out his hands in supplication. “What can we do to make her happy?”

  “I’m not sure,” Stacee responded. “I’ll have to try and gain her trust, come back a few times, walk, talk, try to connect with her. Right now, she doesn’t trust me, and I’m not getting any information except for the fact that she’s here.”

  “Is she going to go on a rampage again?” Calliope could hear the barely controlled anger in Silas’ voice. Last night’s events were going to cost him, and he didn’t want it repeated.

  “Hello.” Stacee stepped away from them. “These people mean you no harm. If you’ll just talk with me, I can help you. Will you do that?”

  They all waited, as if the ghost would give them an answer. Finally, Stacee blew out a long breath of air. “We’re going to leave now. We know you’re here, and I promise you, we don’t want to hurt you. Please don’t destroy anything else.”

  The five of them grew silent again. “Good night,” Stacee finally said. “I’ll be back.”

  They walked to the main road in silence. When they were on the path, Stacee turned to Silas. “I’d like to stay here, if that’s all right with you, in the room where Mrs. Ingalls first saw the spirit.”

  “It was a dream,” Calliope replied. “And I thought we decided on first names.”

  “Spirits sometimes appear in dreams,” Stacee responded. “She came to you that night, and you were in the house last night when the windows shattered. I’d like to see if she comes to me in that room, or if she goes to you.”

  “Me?” Her stomach did a belly flop.

  “Yes, you. She could be picking up on the sadness that you feel over your husband’s death.” She focused her gaze on Silas. “Did anyone work on the cemetery besides Calliope?”

  “No. No one went in there. Truthfully, the workers were freaked out a little because of…”

  “Henry,” Calliope finished for him.

  “Yeah, they were superstitious at first, about someone… dying suddenly out there. As the days went by, they got over it.”

  “I wish I could have done that.”

  “Well, Henry’s spirit’s not here,” Stacee said. “But the unidentified woman is. Sometimes spirits speak to me very clearly, and sometimes it takes longer. This is going to take longer.”

  “Do you have a set fee?” Silas moved next to Calliope and put his hand on the small of her back. His touch was comforting, but it didn’t totally distract her from Stacee’s statement that Henry’s spirit wasn’t there. She’d seen him, hadn’t she? Did that mean it had been nothing more than a dream?

  “No, I don’t. I’m not worried about money. I’m more worried about giving this soul some rest.”

  Phillip cleared his throat. Calliope was sure it was his not too subtle way of saying, “Yeah, sure you are.”

  “I’ll do this one for free,” she said, her smile bright. “As long as I get a few more delicious dinners like the one we had tonight.”

  “Deal,” Nella said. “Tell me some of your favorites, and I’ll prepare them while you’re here.”

  They started to walk again, with Stacee and Nella talking about food. Phillip and Silas exchanged a look that Calliope didn’t quite understand, and right now didn’t want to decipher. She wanted to get Stacee alone, talk to her about her statement. How could she be so sure he wasn’t there?

  “You still with us?” Silas pressed his hand on her back.

  She glanced up at him and nodded. “Why?”

  “You seem a million miles away. Stacee just asked you about any photos you’d taken of the cemetery. She said she wanted to see them.”

  “I haven’t taken that many, just of the stones that were toppled.” She glanced up at Silas, her eyebrows lifted. She hoped he would read her expression right. Should she tell Stacee about the photo Henry had taken?

  “We do have one photo,” he said. “But Calliope didn’t take it. Henry did.”

  “And this is the image you saw last night, standing in the doorway?” Stacee held up the photo, and Calliope nodded. Silas was in his house, retrieving some of the burial records Gloria had given them. Stacee wanted to see them. They’d gone to the house together, and she’d hurried back, hoping to talk to the medium alone.

  “I also saw her my first night here, in this room.” She pointed toward the door. “Henry was here too.”

/>   “I have to tell you, Calliope, that I don’t feel Henry at all. I think he’s moved on.”

  “Like going to heaven?”

  “If that is your belief, then yes. His spirit isn’t here.” Stacee watched her, and Calliope hoped she didn’t look like she was about to cry. “Let me tell you something. I have a lot of widows, and widowers, come to see me. If I don’t feel the presence of their loved ones, that’s what I tell them, and I qualify it by saying this, a person who has moved on is at peace with where they are. It doesn’t mean they wanted to die, but they accept that that’s what happened. They know they led a good life on this level of existence, and they don’t have anything to worry about.”

  Tears filled Calliope’s eyes.

  “It should make you feel good. He knew you’d be fine in this life. I’m not saying he was sure you’d be happy right away, but he wanted you to keep living. Loved ones don’t want you to die because they do. I’ve talked to enough of them to know that. I’m sure he’s looking forward to hearing of your adventures when you see him on the other side.”

  She tried to hold back the tears as she thought about him stroking her hair the morning after he’d died in what she’d thought had been a dream. “Don’t die just because I did.”

  That had been real. But the last time? It was nothing more than the desire to see him, feel him, again.

  “Here you go.” The sound of Silas’ voice jolted her from her memories, and she turned tear-filled eyes toward him. He was handing papers to Stacee. She didn’t want him to see her crying about Henry. She wiped the tears as she turned her face toward the medium.

  “Thank you, Silas.” Stacee took the papers. “Depending if something happens or not, I’ll see you around four, or at breakfast in the morning.”

  “Sounds good.” Silas took Calliope’s hand and squeezed. She returned the affection, and they both turned toward the door after saying goodnight to Stacee.

  They’d only taken a few steps when he turned to her. “Don’t be embarrassed to cry in front of me.”

  “I’m not, I just… I don’t know what I just.” At least this wasn’t a crying jag like ones she’d had in the past. At least the tears were drying now.

  “I thought you understood when I said I didn’t expect you to forget him. Don’t shut me out when you think of him, because all that does is make me think I’m competing against a dead man.”

  Her head reeled as if he’d slapped her in the face. But maybe that’s what she needed—like the hard fuck he’d given her that first time—to get slapped in the face with the truth. Even after a year, no one had called Henry “a dead man.” They’d said, “your late husband,” or talked about him “passing.” Well, everyone except Jolie. She’d pushed her too. Hopefully the harsh tone of Silas’ voice would be the final nail in the coffin, so to speak.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. Just promise me that you won’t shut me out of it again.”

  “I won’t.” I hope.

  “Good. I had some plans for tonight, but I think the best thing for us is just to relax and sit in front of the boob tube. It’s been a hard night and day, and our sleep was interrupted.”

  “I’ll make popcorn.”

  His smile of satisfaction made her feel much better. “With lots of butter. We’ll work it off tomorrow.”

  Chapter 10

  The sun was shining when she woke up. Calliope opened her eyes and blinked, looking toward the open French doors, the windowpanes still covered in plywood. She didn’t remember coming into the bedroom. The last thing she recalled was watching an old detective story with Silas. They were laughing about the main character calling his secretary “doll,” and how he’d get slapped with a lawsuit today.

  That discussion had led to a make-out session, but it hadn’t been consummated. At some point she must have fallen asleep, and he’d brought her in here. And they’d slept through the night. Slept past four a.m. The ghost hadn’t bothered them. Had she gone to Stacee instead?

  She got out of bed and went to the bathroom. When she was done, she grabbed her robe to cover her nakedness, then went to the door. She could hear Silas’ voice, but no one else’s. She found him sitting on the couch, talking on the phone.

  “I’m sure Calliope will miss getting to know you too, Mother, but we understand. We’ll see you next week.” He looked up and waved before putting his finger in front of his mouth.

  Calliope nodded her understanding. She would keep her mouth shut.

  “Yes, I’ll tell her. Be careful on your trip, and we’ll see you when you get back.” There was a slight pause. “I love you, Mom. Good-bye.”

  He hit the off button, then tossed the phone on the coffee table. “Mom has to go to Boston to help diagnose a violent mental patient as a favor for a friend of hers. She’s canceling our dinner for at least a week, possibly longer.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “Not really.” He stood and stretched. “I’d rather spend more time with you alone. She reminded me that my father might need company, to which he responded, in a very loud voice, that Sunday was NFL football day, and he would see us when she gets back.”

  She laughed. “He’s a true football coach.”

  “All-around football lover. I think he was disappointed that I didn’t follow in his footsteps.” He crooked a finger at her. “Come here, you.”

  She stepped in front of him, and he fingered the lapel of the robe she wore. “Off.”

  Calliope threw the robe onto the couch. “Knees.”

  When she was on her knees, she gazed up at him.

  “So beautifully submissive,” he said.

  “Thank you, Sir Silas.” She looked at his crotch, then darted her gaze back to his face. “May I, Sir?”

  “You may.”

  She put one hand on each thigh to steady herself as she kissed his crotch. She could feel his cock pressing against the material as she kissed him again. He threaded his hands through her hair, holding her face against him. Then gently pushed her head back. “Go bathe and dress. We’re having breakfast with the others in twenty minutes, then the rest of the day is ours, up here, alone.”

  She didn’t want to leave the spot between his legs, yet she knew that the faster she left, the faster they would be back. She wanted to hear what Stacee had to say, but she wanted Silas as well. It was hard to determine which idea held more excitement for her.

  “Get going, you. Or am I going to have to tie you to the shower head and wash you myself?”

  That idea had merit too. When she didn’t move, he laughed. “Another time. Now get, before I go without you and you miss what she has to tell us.”

  The smell of coffee and frying bacon wafted out of the kitchen as they drew near. Calliope murmured her appreciation as they opened the door.

  “I’m making waffles,” Nella said. She filled two cups with coffee and set them down next to two plates. “It’s almost ready.”

  Stacee was already there, and it was all Calliope could do not to shout, “Well? Did anything happen?”

  When they were both seated, she beamed. “I have a pretty good idea who our ghost is: Matilda Weston. The burial records show she died in 1701. There are two other Westons buried here, one named Catherine, who died in 1725, and one named Arthur, who died in 1700.” She took a sip of her coffee before continuing. “Now, we know the ghost is a woman, and when I ran my hand over Matilda’s name on the form, I could almost feel her. Almost.”

  “Why almost?” Calliope noticed that Phillip sounded intrigued instead of disdainful.

  “I asked her to talk to me. She refused.”

  “Why couldn’t it be the other one, Catherine?” Silas asked.

  “I felt nothing when I read her name,” Stacee responded. “It has something to do with the building structures and Matilda Weston. But what it is, I don’t know for sure.”

  Nella was laying out plates of food. She took a warm pitcher of syrup from the stove and placed it in the center
of the kitchen island. “Food you get, service you don’t. Not until the hotel opens.”

  They all filled their plates, and then questions and theories started to fly. Calliope ate in silence as she considered the woman she’d seen her first night here, soft and caring, compared to the one she’d seen the third night, angry with them for ignoring her.

  “Are they mother and daughter? Or sisters?” Calliope trailed her fork through her syrup as she spoke.

  “I don’t know,” Stacee said. “I’m going to have to try and gain her trust. We can try records, but they are sketchy, as we know, from that time period. We’re lucky Gloria found the burial records that she did. I would guess mother and daughter, though, because of the twenty-four-year gap between their deaths. Life expectancy wasn’t high back then. Matilda and Arthur died a year apart. I would guess them to be husband and wife, and Catherine to be their daughter.”

  “Only one child?” Silas shook his head. “That’s hard to imagine for that time period. And why was she still a Weston when she died? A single woman back then was unheard of.”

  “I don’t know the answers to those questions.” Stacee ate some of her food, and the room grew silent as they all followed suit. When she finally spoke again, Calliope could almost feel the excitement in her voice.

  “I’ll be around. Just ignore me if I’m moving from place to place. I might spend a lot of time at the building outlines, or at the cemetery. Calliope, I’d appreciate it if you’d tell me when you’re going to photograph things. I’d like to watch and see if it attracts any supernatural attention.”

  “I will.” She glanced in Silas’ direction. “I don’t think it will be until at least Sunday, though.”

  “Excellent. That gives me time to scope things out.” Stacee put down her fork. “Can I help with the dishes?”

  “No, thank you,” Nella replied. “I have a dishwasher that I load. It’s quite easy, unless Silas has been cooking. But I must say that things looked pretty good after I was away this time. It must be Calliope’s influence.”