Foster backed up and watched her squeeze past him with a smile."What about the other two?" I asked."Haven't seen 'em," Foster said, wobbling a bit. I helped him to sit down and went on inside. The two women were huddled together near a center-hall doorway. I heard someone hurrying down the stairs and then a man ran into the room, holding up his breeches at his paunchy belly."What's going on?" he yelled. "I heard a shot." Your guests decided to rape your women," I said, and he looked at me goggle-eyed.'Who the devil are you?" he demanded, stuffing in his ruffled shirt and doing a waist button."Nobody," I said as one of the lounging British officers stretched and yawned in the sitting room behind him."What happened here?" he asked more quietly. "Your dress is torn," he said to his wife. She ignored him and took her bare-chested daughter to the foot of the steps."Get those men out of my house," she said quietly. One of the slave girls passed the mother and daughter on the stairs,. After a while, he rolled carefully over onto his back; that was when he noticed he wasn't alone. There was a hand lying over the edge of the bed near the top; what looked like toes at the bottom of the bed, too. He stared at the hand for a moment but it didn't move. The hand could belong to a dead body – but the skin didn't seem pale enough."Hello?" He whispered out tentatively. "Anyone there?" Who are you?" The voice came back strong. The high registers and the delicate seeming hand told Calix it was probably a girl or woman."Cal," he responded. He was struggling to get up; it wasn't easy. Every move brought new lessons in pain. It seemed he couldn't even breathe without pain shooting through him. He tried to stand but managed only to get his ass a few millimeters off the floor before falling back."Octavia," she replied. From his seat against the wall, Cal could make out the woman's form but it was covered in shadows from the semi-lit room. It looked like – well, it looked like she.
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