Declan

He was a handsome devil with those bedroom eyes. The deep dimples in his cheeks appeared when he smiled even just a little. Silver tongued, able to talk a girl out of her knickers ten minutes after meeting her. His voice was all silk and velvet, soft and deep. He knew his way around any protest, any amount of doubt that it was a good thing to do. He was also full of piss and vinegar, just rough enough to be a manly man, soft enough to melt your heart when he professed love for his three rescue kittens. Who knew if they existed or not; he convinced you they did. Oh yes, he knew all of the right words and had all of the right moves to wrinkle the sheets all night and leave you begging for dawn to never come. And you always would.

Even his name oozed appeal and dripped off his tongue when he introduced himself and suggested going somewhere “quieter” five minutes after saying hello. With that hint of an Irish accent, or whichever he was using when you met, you got pulled in, lead down a path you knew there was no point in trying resist. Declan Flynn was who I met that night. Declan-mmm, the thought of the way he said it still makes me get goose flesh.

I was at a club with some friends, and it was smokey and loud. Music reverberated off the walls and made the barstool hum under my butt. The rum was especially good that night and I was drinking real Coke instead of that diet crap I usually drank. It had been a rough week at work, and I was splurging on both calories and money and dancing like some wanton priestess at a sacrifice. Then I saw him staring at me, that handsome devil with those bedroom eyes. My dancing slowed and I followed the beat thrusting my hips to the thump of the drums and waving my arms to the point of takeoff. I lost sight of him and shrugged him off only to feel hands coming around my waist from behind and a body melding into my backside. Without looking I sensed it was him and he locked into every movement I made. His hands followed my down my arms, purposely brushing my breasts and along to my hips. The next thing I knew I was ready to jump him right then and there. He turned me towards him, still following the beat of the music and to the sound of the bass guitar and the increasing pulse of the drums he introduced himself and suggested we go somewhere else. My friends gave me a round of applause as I paid my tab and hooked my arm in his as we left. He just looked back and grinned.

We didn’t get any further than the alley by the bar and things got crazy. He said his hotel was at the end of the block but that damn alley was a lot closer. He smiled and motioned towards it as we approached. I thought it was going to be a quick make-out session not a quickie but in one motion of his hands he had my skirt up, my panties off and we were on the way to Neverland.  From the instant we came together I would have fought Tiger Lily and her tribe and all of Captain Hook’s pirates if they tried to pull us apart.

We managed to get to his hotel eventually and I had sobered up some. There was more booze and some pot waiting and there was a hot tub in the room. I passed on the booze, he lit a joint and shared it with me and asked if I wanted to get in the Jacuzzi. I passed on that too but did say a shower would be great. He said it was all mine, but he lied. After about five minutes, there he was in all his glory. He stepped in and cocked his head and looked me up and down and smiled. He dropped to his knees and looked up at me again then he made me smile. Moan. Tremble. Pant like I had run a marathon then scream through clenched teeth. Oh, that handsome devil with the bedroom eyes.

We dried off and went to the bed and laid down. He was like a machine, still ready to go. Finally, after 30 minutes of being touched and rubbed and kissed and even smacked on my bottom once he was ready for showtime. The man had obviously read the Kama Sutra and I am pretty sure he wrote another chapter for it.

 I had never been with a man like Declan and doubt I ever will again; sometimes I wonder if he was even real or just some erotic dream I conjured up in my sleep after a hard night of partying, drinking and drugs. I don’t believe in perfection but damn he was perfect.

Months passed before I went out on the town again. Being with Declan had changed me somehow. Not sure why but I was not the same as I was before I met him. I can’t even describe the change. I wasn’t in love with him or waiting for him to show up again, I knew there was little chance of that. But something in me felt unfamiliar. No one noticed it, I guess, since it was never mentioned. Maybe it was all in my head. Whatever I was feeling was certainly something he left with me.

Summer was over and there was a band playing at a café in Bridgetown that I like so I went out for the first time in ages. It was an outdoor show, and it was a beautiful night. The humidity of the summer was gone, and a soft, cool breeze showed up to making me wish I had worn something with sleeves. I ordered a glass of white wine instead of my usual rum and Coke and an appetizer of baked brie and French bread. I had gotten the last table for two and was only two rows back from the stage which was nice. The band played their first set and took a ten-minute break. I noticed the table behind me had about five women who were obviously on a girl’s night out. They were having a great time, drinking, and laughing, telling jokes, and swapping stories. I couldn’t stop myself from eavesdropping. I heard the blonde with the Pixie cut make a comment to the effect of “he was like a freight train; you couldn’t stop him if you dropped a boulder on him!” She shivered at the memory. This was followed by raucous laughter and clinking glasses and me leaning in just a little closer. Pixie Cut continued, “And his voice, ho-lee hell! That accent drove me insane! I used to think of Boris and Natasha when I heard Russians speak. Not anymore! “Viktor”… it echoes in my head a dozen times a day. Out of nowhere I hear it. Viktor Angeloff-doesn’t the sound of it just make you weak in the knees!” Squealing again and then the band started up.

Pixie Cut had to be talking about Declan! I knew it! I bet he has a hundred different names and accents to go with them. Not it was that big a deal but still…

The more I thought about “Viktor” the more I wondered if he were an alter ego of Declan and if he were how many more egos could there be?  I decided to do some research just for the hell of it. The guy was sort of like Santa Claus, stopping by and bringing happiness for one night. I didn’t think he was dangerous by any means, but he sure did pique my curiosity.  Aside from my curiosity, did I really have the right to try to find out more about this guy? What if he was dangerous? What if he was just choosy about his victims? What if I had been watching too many cop shows and was letting my imagination get the best of me? I decided to think about this for a while before I pursued him; chances are he was just a lady’s man that did not want to use his real name.

Brenna called me about two weeks later and said some of the girls were going to the White Horse Saloon the following Saturday night and wanted me to come along. Sure, why not? I didn’t have plans, again, on a Saturday night. I had never had a lot of luck with men; my ex-husband, turned out to be the complete opposite of who I thought he was after we were married. We had dated for almost a year, lived together for three months before we were married but once those little gold bands were exchanged, he turned into a complete stranger. The hardworking man I admired began calling in sick at least once a week and going in late on a regular basis. The one beer with pizza on Friday nights became a six pack and Saturday’s were a fifth of Jim Beam. By the time we had our three month anniversary I told him to get the hell out and find someone else to pay his bills; he hit me and blacked my eye so I called the police on him. That was when I found out he had a bench warrant out for his arrest for failure to show up on a drunk driving charge. I had not been in a real relationship since and that was three years ago. I had dated but nothing serious; had my needs met but never had any feelings beyond that with anyone. 

Saturday night came and I met Brenna and the other ladies at the White Horse and was looking forward to some good music and dancing. The band was great; they had a girl singer that could do Bonnie Raitt, Loretta, and Patsy and most any of the honkytonk girl singers. If you closed your eyes you would think the original singers were on stage. The crowd was having a great time and the beer was flowing and the band was pumping. I went to the ladies’ room and went into the stall next to the sinks. There were several women primping in the mirrors and chatting about men and I heard one raving about the man she had met the week before. “He was AMA-zing!” she said to her friends. “I have never met, let alone been to bed with anyone like Demone. That Italian really knows how to make a girl happy…he was like the Energizer Bunny!” she told her friends. 

“Holy Sh…” I said as I flushed. “Demone? Viktor? Declan?” The names echoed in my brain like a skipping record. Over and over, each time a little louder than before. I hurried out to see if I could tell which woman was talking about Demone and I knew who she was by her voice. Completely different than me or Pixie Cut. Declan’s taste was as diverse as he was.

Whoever he was had taken up living in my mind and seemed to have no intention of leaving anytime soon. He was fascinating both in bed and out and I wanted to know more about him but how to you track down a ghost? Or was he a figment of the imagination? Did I need a paranormal expert? Or did I need to talk to a professional about the effect this man had on me?  I decided I would speak to my boss, Dr. Ron (Aperion) Phoenix, about Declan. Dr. Phoenix  was a psychologist and I had been his office manager for almost four years. Surely, he would be the one to help me pin this man down.

***

           “Wow, Tess! Are you sure you want to find out more about this guy? It could change you whole opinion of him. Your dream might become a nightmare if you know more!” Dr. Phoenix was half serious, half teasing when he commented on my “Tale of Declan”. He was intrigued for sure but cautious at the same time.

           “I have no qualms about one niters, Tess and you sure seem to have hit the jackpot with Declan, but I am not sure you should be wanting to track him down. Have you thought any further than actually finding him?  What would be the next step? Say you find him. From what you have told me I doubt seriously he would be the same “Declan” you met. You may not like Viktor or Demone or whoever. Your wonderful evening with a wonderful lover could be erased forever. Are you willing to chance that?”

           “I don’t know, Ron. I just can’t seem to move past him. This isn’t me! I have never let a man set up camp in my head! Part of me wants him to go! Leave! Be gone, you gorgeous playboy! Then I dream of him, smell his cologne out of nowhere and feel his hand on my shoulder and actually turn expecting to see him. I think I am having a breakdown of some kind!”

           “No, Tess, it is not a breakdown, but it sounds like it is becoming an obsession! Listen, lunch is almost over, and we have patients due in ten minutes so let’s just let this be for now. I will help you get through this, but we need to develop a plan. Tomorrow is Friday and our half day so why don’t we plan on spending the afternoon together and we can talk as long as you want? Deal?”

           “Deal. Ron, I really appreciate this.”

           He reached out and squeezed my hand. Tomorrow afternoon was going to be interesting for sure.

Thursday night was usually my won ton soup and egg roll night but instead of calling ahead to order I decided to order after I got to China Gate. Plum wine has been known to cure what ailed me in the past, so I ordered a glass. The hands on that tacky clock that was inside of a tiger’s mouth moved at a snail’s pace and I didn’t feel any different than when I first sat down. I took my time on the second glass; thankfully glasses at China Gate tend to be small. I had barely touched lunch and it was already past 7 p.m. The owner brought my order and thanked me. I said my good night and left. I did have to drive home regardless of whether the healing had come or not.

I made it home by 7:30 and kicked my heels off at the door. I turned on some blues and settled into my recliner with my egg roll, wonton soup and laptop. Sigh. It suddenly struck me as sad that here I was an attractive (so I have been told) thirty-four-year-old single woman, spending yet another evening alone, just me and the blues of Muddy Waters to keep me company.

Scrolling through my email, I stopped on a “Curios” offer and checked it out. I loved this type of magazines; articles about the unusual have always been of special interest to me. An article on global warming did nothing to interest me nor one on vultures, nasty looking things! I almost deleted the offer and an article on shapeshifting caught my eye. Hmmm, I thought. Could be interesting so I started to read. “In mythology, folklore and speculative fiction, shapeshifting is the ability to physically transform oneself through an inherently superhuman ability, divine intervention, demonic manipulation, sorcery, spells or having inherited the ability.”

“Divine intervention” fit the bill for my night with Declan. I would definitely bring this up with Ron.

***

Noon came and Ron and I were done for the week. Our eleven o’clock appointment had cancelled so we were ready to close the doors on another week at twelve. Door Dash had delivered a “garbage pizza” and an order of cheese sticks; Ron pulled out a bottle of wine he had brought from home, and we settled in for the afternoon in his office.

In between bites of pizza and cheese sticks I showed him the article about “shapeshifting” on his pc. He read it and I could tell by his expressions he was intrigued. He started looking for more sites and after twenty minutes he leaned back in his chair.

“Tess, what do you think about this “shapeshifting”? Do you believe in it or any of the other things mentioned in the article?” he asked.

“Well, I don’t not believe in them. I don’t know enough about it to decide. What do you think?”

“I think there are millions of things that we have no idea if they are real or not. I also think we owe it to ourselves to be open to them. What you chose to believe is up to you.”

“That doesn’t help a lot, Ron.”

“It is the best I can offer. I will say, if I were you, I would leave it be. Leaving it be has nothing to do with what you believe. It’s just a safety thing.”

“I will give it some thought,” I told him. “See you Monday. And thanks.”

The weekend passed and Monday morning came all sunshine and roses. Literally. I opened the office and there were a dozen roses on my desk. The card was signed Declan.

I was shocked, to say the least.

Dr. Phoenix was not in when the first patient showed up at nine. At 9:20, I apologized and promised to call when I talked to him. At 9:30, a messenger delivered an envelope from Dr. Phoenix. It was his resignation and a note that read, “Hope you like the roses."