Disclaimer:
The following story contains explicit content and is intended for mature audiences and open-minded people only. Reader discretion is advised.
This work of fiction includes themes of sexuality, romance, and adult situations and is not meant to be taken seriously. In fact some of my works may require you to suspend belief. It may contain scenes of explicit language, graphic depictions of sexual acts, situations of cheating and polyamory, group minglings, and other content suitable only for those over the legal age of consent in their jurisdiction.
All characters depicted in this story are consenting or willing adults and are works of fiction. Any resemblance to any real persons, living or dead, or both, is purely coincidental.
By continuing to read this story, you acknowledge that you are of legal age to access adult content in your area and that you understand the nature of the content provided and have an open mind for such things. The author assumes no responsibility for any actions taken by readers as a result of the content of this story. Further, the author accepts no responsibility if you are offended by what you have read.
If you are not comfortable with or legally allowed to access explicit adult content, please discontinue reading now.
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Mather Cemetery was still, bathed in the eerie, muted blue of the approaching dawn. In the distance, there were small clouds of fog and mist hovering over the trees, and the air was heavy with moisture, leaving itself as dew on the grass and tombstones in the fields.
Because the weather had started to change and the first signs of fall were in the air, a gentle mist hovered over the grounds, drifting among the tombstones and markers scattered throughout the two parts of the cemetery bisected by the small road. One might look at the scene and think it was the set for a horror movie.
A small car broke the silence as it zipped down the road, causing the fog to separate and scatter. Then, slowly closing back on itself, the fog hid the road again.
The cemetery was far from empty, however. For some reason or another, there were those who were still there--some because they could not move on, some because they chose to remain. But there was another here with an agenda and a purpose, and she was standing next to her newly placed marker, watching out across the field.
Madam Isabella Crane turned her gaze toward her plot, which had been in her family since the cemetery was built. She looked at the names on the marker and thought of her mother, father, and sister, all of whom had died more than a lifetime ago. A part of her wished that, like her, some of them had been trapped here so that she would commune with them. Something that would give her some sense of familiarity.
She turned and looked around the grounds at the names of some tombs and headstones around her. Some were names she knew, others she did not. But these names were not ones that she was interested in. She was interested in another and could feel his presence here, in the distance.
"Duncan Sutter, I know you are out there and can hear me, " she said loudly.
She neither heard nor felt a response from him. She did, however, sense a sudden scattering of spirits--those still in this cemetery who had not yet moved on for their own reasons. But somewhere in the distant parts of this scared piece of land, she felt a sudden pang of fear--not her own fear, but fear from someone else in the area--fear from Duncan.
"Duncan Sutter, make yourself seen. If you have no guilt, then you have no reason to hide."
Still, there was nothing but the stirring of the other spirits she felt were present here.
Finally, tiring of the effort to get his attention, she shook her head, "I have no patience for this, Duncan. We will speak, and soon." Then she disappeared.
Martin was feeling good today. It had been two days since his evening with Angeline, and this morning, when he had gotten out of the shower, Amanda had left a note on his desk that said, "I miss you, and I love you. I hope to see you soon."
That was enough to make his day and send him on a working spree, which is where he was now, carrying wood and supplies up to the third floor for the contractors and then taking some of the refuse that had back down to the dumpsters. Initially, they had built a chute to send the trash down in, but to everyone's surprise, that was a potential code violation, so it had to be removed.
Tiffany was still off, enjoying some downtime, and, true to her word, had her phone turned off. Martin knew this for sure because he had tried to call her this morning to ask about one of the vendors, but the call went straight to voicemail, and her voicemail said it was full.
He was in the attic, helping one of the electricians run some wire, when he noticed a car outside that he did not recognize.
He finished helping run the electrical wire through the small openings they had cut for it, made sure they did not need anything else, and then walked over to the window and watched.
It was a black car with what looked like government plates, and the man who had gotten out was wearing a suit and a cheap suit at that, like the ones you buy off the rack at a department store. For some reason, Martin got a visual of him buying it at Nordstrom's Rack and thinking he got a good deal.
"Someone from the Mayor's office?" he thought as he watched the man talk on the phone.
Then he saw two of his workers, the ones who had been moving things out of the basement and into the storage containers, walk up to him, start talking, and point to the back of the house.
At about that time, two Vermont State Police cars pulled up, and officers got out. They joined the man in the suit, and the two workers, and then all five of them began walking to the house.
"What are Vermont State Police doing here?" He asked himself.
Almost as in answer to his question, Martin heard some heavy steps coming up the stairs and turned in time to see one of the workmen approaching him.
"Mr. Simms?"
He looked at the man, searching for the name, and then responded, "Isaac, yes, what's going on?"
Isaac was a workman with the construction company that had been the primary contractor for the refurbishment of the house. Martin was unfamiliar with all the employees because they seemed to occasionally cycle them out to other projects, but Isaac had been involved in this project from the start. Martin suspected that it was because he was a bit autistic, and one of his gifts was a talent for detailed painting.
Isaac had repainted all the doors to the ladies' rooms. Though Isabella would not confirm or deny, Martin suspected that some of the ladies had shown themselves politely and supportively to Isaac.
Isaac stammered and said, "There's a body, sir. They found a body."
"A body, where? Who's?"
He motioned for Martin to follow and said, "I don't know, Mr. Simms, it's in the basement, behind some boxes that were being moved out to the storage rooms."
Following Isaac down the stairs, Martin could not think of what could have happened that there would have been a body down there.
When they reached the first floor, a crowd gathered around the door leading to the basement, and there was no easy way for him to get down there.
"Hey folks," Martin yelled, "Let's clear a way."
Everyone moved out of the way as Martin and Isaac entered the basement. He saw the man in the suit and the two uniformed officers there.
One of the officers stopped him and said, "Please step back, sir. This may be a crime scene."
"Officer," Martin looked at the nameplate, "Taggert? My name is Martin Simms, I own the property; what's happening?"
