“No
where. Just back out to the living room.”
“Don’t go. Don’t leave. I’m sorry.”
He sat back down. “Sorry for what?”
“You’re mad at me, I know. I’m sorry, I’m just—”
“Hey, hey.” He stroked her arm, only to have her pull away from him—and then look guilty for pulling away. “I’m not mad, not even one percent mad,” he assured her. “I’m one hundred percent worried and sad for you, though, and I want you to sleep and let your mind rest. You’re going to need a lot of strength to get through the next few days.”
“Don’t leave,” she cried again.
So he stayed until she fell asleep, thinking back to Clayton’s words during their conversation a couple years ago. See, that’s the thing. I don’t think she’ll be fine. Not emotionally, or any way else.
Jay, if I die, I want you to take care of her. I mean, watch out for her. You know what I mean.
This is what Clayton had meant. As part of their consensual TPE relationship, Clay had taken away so much of her freedom, so much of her autonomy, that he’d known she wouldn’t be able to function when he was gone. This is what that looked like, this conflict and terror. Mephisto understood now why Clayton had been so worried. What a fucking mess.
Once she was asleep, her face relaxed from the tension of grieving, Mephisto returned to the living room to drink Irish whiskey with Mrs. Jernigan and figure out what to do next.
Mrs. Jernigan—Rose, as he called her now that they were drinking together—seemed to have shed most of her tears. She was all business, thinking over the most important matters, like who she would have to contact in the morning, and what she needed to do to prepare the house for family and guests. She took the phone calls as they came, making copious notes on who was arriving when, so Clayton’s driver could pick them up.
“You’ll have to handle Molly,” Mephisto warned her. “Once the family starts to descend, I won’t be able to hang around and manage her through this transition. Not without causing a lot of questions about Clayton’s private life.”
Rose looked skeptical. “I’m not sure I can handle that one.”
“It’s just until after the funeral. Until his family leaves town. From what I understand they were never that close. I doubt they’ll stay long.”
“They’ll stay long enough to make Mrs. Copeland uncomfortable. They’ll want her to take herself off, now Mr. Copeland’s gone.”
“They can’t make her leave. This is her house now.” He topped off the housekeeper’s glass and then leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “Will you stay on here? You won’t leave her, will you? She’s going to need you, and not just as a housekeeper.”
Mrs. Jernigan looked apologetic, but resolute. “I’m afraid I can’t stay. Not beyond the funeral. I’ll stay until Mr. Copeland’s laid to rest, until his family leaves, but then I’ll be off. I don’t know that she’d want me to stay anyway. I’d have left years ago if not for the generous salary. I never much liked how he treated that woman. Like an animal, making her go around naked and collared, and she putting up with it, so pleased with herself. I didn’t agree at all with how they got on together. I don’t care to stay around and see her with another just the same.” She slid him a look. “Will you be the next one, then?”
Mephisto went still. Would he be the next one? Subconsciously, he supposed he’d been mulling over that question. He wanted Molly as much as he ever had, and Clayton had assumed Molly would go to him next. Hell, he’d practically pushed her into Mephisto’s arms. There’d been an understanding between them, but like everything else, the details were a lot more complicated than the general idea.
“I don’t know,” he said to Rose, pouring more whiskey into his own glass. “I don’t know if I’ll be the next one or not. I guess that will be up to Molly.”
“Agh, like she can make a decision, that one. If you don’t snap her up, someone else will, and she’ll go following after him like she doesn’t have a brain between her ears.”
“She has a brain,” Mephisto said a little sharply.
Rose nodded and waved a hand. “I know. Don’t get your dander up. Believe me, I know. That’s the most irritating thing about it. No, I won’t stay. Not past a week or so, to get things settled. I owe Mr. Copeland that at least. Then I’ll retire, thanking him for so many years of generosity.” She sighed and got to her feet. “I’m for bed. Will you stay tonight? There’s a guest bedroom down the hall from Mr. Copeland’s room.”
“Yes, I’ll stay.” Mephisto wouldn’t dream of leaving Molly alone tonight. He wouldn’t stay in the guest room either. Will you be the next one, then? He couldn’t think about that yet. Like everything else, it was too overwhelming at the moment. Still, as confused and sad as he was, he couldn’t imagine what Molly was feeling in her grief.
*** *** ***
Molly woke up reaching for Master before she remembered he was gone. Her eyes ached, her throat ached. Her whole body ached with the absence of him.
And Master Mephisto was lying beside her in Master’s bed.
She bolted upright, clutching Master’s pillow to her front. The motion and noise shook Mephisto awake.
“Are you okay?” he asked, reaching for her.
She backed away from his hands and tumbled off the edge of the bed, then scrambled to her feet, still hiding behind the pillow. Last night, she’d wanted to be nude because her Master preferred her that way. Now she felt like Eve in the garden, horribly aware and suddenly ashamed of her nakedness. She didn’t want to be seen, not by him. “Why are you here?” she asked, voice trembling.
He blinked, still coming awake. “You told me not to leave. I didn’t want to leave, in case you needed me.”
She meant, Why are you here in his bed? With me? Not that Mephisto didn’t know her intimately, every inch of her. Master Mephisto and Molly had a long and complex relationship, to include a week of sex and training she’d never forget. She couldn’t be around him, couldn’t look at him without remembering. He had affected her that deeply, but she didn’t want to remember that right now. She respected Mephisto. She knew he was her Master’s closest friend, both in the scene and out. But she wasn’t ready to belong to anyone but her Master, not yet.
But your Master’s gone.
“It’s okay, Molly,” he said. “I know what you’re thinking.”
With anyone else, she might have doubted, but Mephisto could read her better than anyone she’d ever known in her life. Yes, including her Master. She burst into tears. “I’m sorry. I don’t... I want... I know you’re just trying to help but I don’t want—”
He held out a hand, but he didn’t come closer. Maybe he thought she’d attack with Master’s pillow. She buried her face in it instead.
“I’m just here to help,” he said. “That’s all. I promised your Master I’d look after you. That means whatever you want it to mean.” His kind, calm voice somehow made things seem even bleaker.
“I don’t know what anything means right now,” she bawled. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“You’re going to grieve for a while.” Mephisto got out of bed, approached her slowly. “Can I hold you? I’d really like to comfort you right now, as a friend. Your Master would want me to comfort you.”
“My Master’s not here!” she screamed. As quickly as it flared, her explosion of rage died, and she clawed at the pillow in misery. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry...”
“Shhh.” Mephisto put an arm around her, then another, and she was crying into his chest, soaking his dark tee shirt. “I’m just here as a friend,” he said. “For as long as you need me. You’re going to need a friend.”
She backed away from him. “It’s hard to think of you as a friend, Master Mephisto.”
“Don’t ‘Master’ me then. Just call me Mephisto for a while. How can I help you? Right now, what can I do? Do you want to get dressed, have some breakfast? Clayton’s family will show up soon. I don’t want to be here, but I can help you get ready. M
rs. Jernigan can help if you’d rather.”
Still Molly stood, her Master’s pillow dangling from her hand. She hugged it to herself again. She didn’t know what to do, how to go on beyond standing there. Yes, she had to get dressed. Yes, she ought to eat, although the idea of it nauseated her. She would have to keep living, but it seemed an insurmountable task even to make her legs move.
“Why won’t you be here?” she asked Mephisto. “You said you’d help me. They’ll try to make me leave. They’ll try to cut me out, separate me from Master.”
“They won’t.” He shook his head brusquely. “Don’t let them. Clay left everything to you. It’s all in his will, ironclad. They have no right to anything, no right to even come in this house unless you let them. Remember that.” He moved closer. His dark eyes shone with kindness. Understanding. “I know you’ve been a slave for years now. You can be a slave again if you want to, in time. But for now, for this time right now, you need to be strong. You need to stand up for yourself and Clayton, and plan his funeral and settle his affairs. I know it sounds impossible, that you think you won’t be able to do it, but you’ll have help.”
“You said you wouldn’t be here.”
“Just for now, while his family’s around. I think I might scare them,” he said with a slight smile. Molly thought it was probably true. The large, muscular, pierced and tattooed black man would probably stand out a bit too much amidst Clayton’s lily white relatives. “Besides, no one can know about Clayton’s fetish life. You and I know, of course. The Seattle fetish community knows, but they’ll be discreet. His household staff knows but they’ll be discreet too. His family...” He pinned her with a direct gaze. “His family can’t know, so you can’t be the slave right now. You have to be the wife. Mrs. Molly Copeland. You’ll have help from his executors and lawyers. Lots of people will give you advice. Listen to them.”
Molly felt sick terror in her stomach. “How will I know I can trust them?”