Colin watched her with an almost incandescent intensity, then he reached out with his hand, holding a red rose, barely blossomed. He used the flower like an extension of the index finger, stroking Clara’s cheek with the fragrant petals, slowly tracing the line of her cheekbones, then her damp and beautifully shaped lips.
Following with his eyes the smooth movement of the petals on a skin softer than silk, he descended on the line of her chin and paused at the low neckline of the robe, where the rose’s deep red contrasted with the glossy black.
Placing the flower on the desk, Colin gently untied the robe’s belt, slipping his hands on her shoulders, and the delicate fabric glided on the floor.
They stood a moment mesmerized, each paying to the other a tacit tribute. She – a nude Aphrodite, a harmonious ensemble of curves, beauty, grace and sensuality. He – a tall, handsome Ares, emanating power and sensuality, his dark eyes charged with desire and emotion.
Consumed by the smoldering passion that had burned in both their minds over time, they frantically kissed and embraced, exploring, discovering each other, in a symphony of sensations and feelings.
After removing with trembling fingers the barrier of his clothes, Clara stopped for a moment to look at her lover, so beautiful and attractive in his nakedness, with skin that seemed to have the fluid color of caramel in the candle light. Each shape, each contour was superbly sculpted, beginning with his smooth chest, the strong and broad shoulders, the arms with subtle lines created by muscles and veins.
Those arms encompassed her now and, lost in a rainbow of euphoria, she abandoned herself to the expert caresses of his hands.
Colin laid her on the massive bed, covering her with kisses, then with his hot, hard body.
United by the supreme intimacy of the bond only two people can have, they abandoned themselves to the desire that consumed them, until the reality seemed to fall apart, and they remained the only entities in a universe created from all levels and expressions of love.
***
Clara awoke with her eyelashes insistently tickled by a ray of light and with a smile lingering on her lips, lost in a reverie of the past night. She shuddered with pleasure thinking of her lover, of his sensual lips and skilled caresses, thinking of all the whispers, promises and gasps, which had interlaced with the sounds of the night, the forest, and the lake.
The candle had extinguished and so had the laptop, whose power had run out long before their mutual desire was temporarily satisfied.
I need you so much... I love you! He had whispered, while she sat nestled against his chest, tracing with her finger the cavity that separated his torso in two halves, perfectly defined and wonderfully outlined.
I love you too, she had replied, embracing him tighter. Maybe it’s crazy, but I think I’ve loved you from the moment I first caught sight of you staring at me, so direct and daring, like you could see right into my soul.
Colin was charming in every way – a quality that he was aware of and artistically exploited – bright, intelligent, educated and well mannered, bold and confident. Above all, however, his most striking feature were his eyes, so expressive and captivating, spiced with a slight dose of naughty, insinuating amusement, eyes that invited, even challenged a woman to discover their secrets.
Do you remember what you told me when I asked you why you were staring at me like that? she had asked him with a sly smile.
I told you to listen one of Kylie Minogue’s songs, ‘Can’t Get You Out of My Head’ or ‘Love at First Sight’, any of them would have been fit, he had replied, tenderly caressing her back. The most original come-on I have ever received, she’d teased him. That’s me, Mr. Originality.
Then he had covered her mouth with his and the conversation had ceased, leaving room only for the erotic language of their bodies.
Late, in the deepest hours of the night, they had slightly slipped into the nets of sleep, extending in a world of dreams, a newly discovered magic of reality.
Now, Clara was looking adoringly at her lover, who was sleeping beside her, on his belly, head hidden under the pillow, probably to escape from the same irritating sunlight that had managed to slide through the old shutters.
Gently sneaking out of bed, she recovered her robe from the floor and, thinking of a delicious breakfast, she got out silently, dressing and blowing an invisible kiss to Colin.
On her toes, she descended the stairs that creaked in protest with every step, and, when she reached the bottom, she accidentally stepped on Morris’ fluffy tail. Both – woman and cat – let out a strangled yelp, one frightened, the other one annoyed. Clara lost her balance and stumbled clumsily, skipping the last step and Morris rushed aside just in time, before he could be turned into a furry pancake, pasted on the floor.
Hissing and growling in his own language, the furious cat retired on the sofa, watching the intruder with yellow, hostile eyes, and began licking his flattened tail.
“It’s nice to meet you too”, muttered Clara, massaging the leg on which she had landed, then headed straight to the fridge, looking for what she needed to make pancakes and coffee.
Morris, hearing the sound that opened the magic box, immediately changed tactics and, rubbing against her bare legs, tail in the air, issued a meow, which signaled he was in imminent danger of starvation.
A pair of amused green eyes looked down, to another pair, golden and full of hope.
“You really are an opportunist, aren’t you?” asked Clara, handing him a finger wrapped in chocolate cream. Morris rapidly cleaned the offered finger with a pink tongue, rough as sandpaper.
The young woman buried her fingers in the mass of fluffy yellowish fur, stroking, scratching, and, surprising them both, the cat began to purr.
After she applied the same treatment to Tony, who had appeared from the garden, Clara put their food and water outside.
She checked once again the back door knob, which she had fixed in only a few minutes, then lifted the massive, bulky box full with her tools and gear – probably used by Colin the night before to brace the door, allowing access outside to the animals – and squeezed it behind the sofa.
With art and efficiency, she cooked a delightful breakfast, consisting of eggs with ham, a few pancakes filled with chocolate cream and a big pot of coffee. Then she sat on a chair at the bar, with a mug of the hot aromatic liquid in front of her, waiting for her lover to awake, indulging in the meantime with sweet memories of the past night.
Watching absently the creamy layer of foam, Clara succumbed to her thoughts and daydreaming.
Suddenly, without any warning, she felt cold shivers creeping under her skin, like tongues of ice, and had the certain impression she wasn’t alone in the room.
The fluid in the cup began to rotate slightly in dizzying circles. Mesmerized by the movement and almost paralyzed by the cold that threatened to shatter her bones, Clara froze for a moment. Then, the surreal feeling dissipated and fear took its place.
Outside, she could hear Tony’s rusty growling – punctuated now and then by an almost sinister howl – and the abrasive sound of his claws while he was struggling to open the door, which Clara was sure had been, in fact, left open.
With her teeth chattering, she rose slowly, and, shaking, moved away from the bar with uncertain steps, walking backwards. At some distance she stopped, watching horrified with the motionless fascination of a predator’s victim how an invisible hand slightly scratched in the bar’s wood a single message: FIND ME.
***
Colin was dreaming of a vast beach with golden sand, which enveloped his bare feet, with the clean and salty scent of the ocean, with waves that met and remodeled themselves in wonderful explosions of sound and movement.
In front of him stood Clara, her hair and translucent dress waving lazily in the breeze. He smiled in his sleep and put out a hand to touch her, but came awake holding the pillow which emanated the soft fragrance of the siren that haunted his dreams.
Smelling fresh coffee,
Colin stretched like a big, satisfied and happy cat.
What time could it be? He wondered, looking around, confused and sleepy. And why isn’t my beautiful lover here to give me a morning kiss, maybe even a round of ... morning exercise?
With all kinds of shameless thoughts and a lascivious smile, he rose, pulled on his jeans and turned on the laptop to find out what the time was and to give Clara the chance to prepare breakfast. At least, that’s what he hoped she was doing.
It was almost 11 o’clock, so breakfast, he thought, was actually going to be a sort of lunch. Out of curiosity, he rapidly scanned the icons on the desktop, and all the folders arranged in alphabetical order.
Only one caught his attention, as it was stranded, placed on the forehead of the black panther with fierce fangs, which served as a background picture. It was the only file to which she hadn’t given a name, it being automatically named by the program she used. Curiosity fought a brief battle with the guilt of violating Clara’s privacy, but, confirming the proverbial Murphy’s life experience along with human nature, guilt succumbed quickly to curiosity. He opened the file and read, with surprise and admiration, the following lines:
In nameless oblivion I wish I could fall,
And all that I am should drip into void,
All dreams and all hopes, the pain and the sun
They vanish entirely becoming immortal.
I dream to be happy, I dream to forget,
For tears dug their prints right into my soul,
Mistakes, disillusions, my endless bygones,
Completely suppress a spirit in fall.
What made you so melancholic, my love? he wondered, with emotion and fascination, feeling the sadness encoded in these verses.
Although he had read more than a few bookcases filled with books, he rarely was drawn to poetry, preferring specific facts or information about anything.
He didn’t consider himself to be a romantic, but a realist, though not to the point in which he would have become insensitive or incapable of sharing and creating special moments, especially with a woman. But these two short stanzas revealed to him another wonderful hidden side of the complex labyrinth that constituted the soul of the woman he loved.
With her on his mind, he descended the old stairs and immediately saw her, standing with her back against the door, with her eyes huge and fists tensed, looking in the direction of the kitchenette.
In three strides, he was beside her, alarmed, sensing the cold and a pressing feeling of fear, a mixture of sadness and frustration, all these passing through him like a jolting wave of static electricity. He followed the direction of her gaze and saw the message scrawled in the bar’s wood.
Instinctively, he pushed her behind him, blocking her body with his, as if to protect her from an invisible enemy, but they both felt the tension and icy pressure around them beginning to disperse, replaced by a relative state of relaxation.
“What the hell was that?” he asked without actually expecting an answer. Turning around, he framed in his hands Clara’s pale face. “Are you alright, baby? What happened?”
Her fingers were numb and thousands of needles and tingles passed through her hands when Colin grasped them hard, warming them with his palms and carefully tracing the trails of her nails left in her own skin, result of the force with which she had tightened her fists.
Recovering from the shock, Clara wet her lips with the tip of her tongue and, looking him straight in the eyes, she asked hoarsely:
“Did you see it too? Did you feel something?”
Colin took her in his arms, nodding, continuing to watch over her head the message inscribed in wood.
“I don’t know what, but I definitely felt something,” he said leading her to the sofa, “and I don’t suppose you’re the one who took up wood sculpting,” he went on, indicating with his chin in the bar’s direction, while she curled on the couch, with her legs under her.
Colin sat with her curled up in his lap, pushing aside a few blonde strands that overshadowed her face, escaped from the band which she used to tie her hair. She seemed so fragile in his arms, but he remembered how, a few minutes earlier, she had the look of a warrior, fists clenched, strung as a bow, ready to face something she couldn’t see or understand. Any other woman and even most men he knew would have run screaming, as far as they could, from...
“What?” he wondered. “Paranormal phenomena, poltergeist, ET, what the fuck are we dealing with?” he continued, frustrated, without realizing he was thinking aloud.
“I have no idea,” she said, shaking her head as a sign of absolute confusion. “I’ve never stopped to seriously analyze this sort of stuff. I classified them as fables, out loud, at least, though, inward, I have enough imagination and scientific knowledge to know there are things in the Universe which exceed by far our level of understanding. It’s only that, you see, people are afraid of what they can’t understand. They prefer ignoring everything that hasn’t got a logical explanation, that’s the general reaction. And I’m as human as they get,” she went on with a wistful smile. “But even if I want to stick my head in the sand, too many weird things have happened here already. I perceive this thing as a challenge to my mind and character. I have to find out what is going on here,” she added, on a firm, determined tone.
Colin looked at her, smiling, but without managing to disguise his worry.
“Are you sure you don’t want to pack your things quickly and get out of here with the speed of light?” he teased.
“That’s exactly what I want, but it’s not what I’m going to do,” she replied, and the iron will which had motivated her throughout her life transpired through every pore, every gesture, by the purposeful stance and implacable facial expression.
Colin sighed theatrically, admiring and adoring within himself the Amazon spirit, the courage and maybe folly that his dream woman seemed to have.
“Well,” he said resigned. “Looks like you’ve got a partner in solving The Mystery on the Lake. Maybe after this we’ll write a book together about it. Meanwhile, who do you want to be, Holmes or Watson?”
***
It didn’t even occur to Clara to ask Colin if he was sure he wanted to be a part of the mysterious investigation of the strange phenomena, instead of being cautious and get lost as soon as possible from the Twilight Zone – the nickname she gave to the cottage area. It would have been an offense to his character and manhood, as Colin wasn’t the kind of man who would beat in retreat faced with such a situation.
On the coffee table, breakfast had gone cold long ago. They ate in silence, until Clara put down her fork near the plate, with a jingle whose echo broke the heavy silence.
“We should make a plan,” she said, “but I haven’t the faintest idea what to begin with.”
Colin was gently massaging the bridge of his nose - that place between the eyebrows called The Eye of Shiva, where a sensation of dull pain had started to propagate in his whole head.
“Tell me again everything that’s happened since you came here. I mean the things you would catalog as strange,” he added, continuing to massage, dispersing the stagnant, painful energy.
Clara told him, as detailed as possible, the unusual episodes without omitting or hyperbolizing anything.
“How well could you describe to me that woman?” he asked.
“Not very well... it was dark and a considerable distance. I remember she had very pale skin, like a specter, eyes so dark they seemed two black holes, and long, blond hair, wavy.”
“If you could remember some details, even minor ones, like the shape of her face, her nose, stuff like that,” he said, gesturing, “I could sketch her.”
Clara looked at him with wide eyes.
“You can draw? I mean, professionally?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “A man of many talents,” she added insinuatingly, her gaze wondering over his naked, superbly modeled torso. “Maybe you could draw me someday,” she suggested with a feline smile.
He me
ditatively ran his palm over his cheeks and chin, where the dark and prickly shadow of a one-day-beard made its presence felt.
“Yeah... But I can think of a lot of much more creative things I could do to you, while you’re posing nude on a huge sofa,” he said, winking. He pulled her against him and gave her a long kiss, tasting the chocolate pancakes, the coffee, and the aroma of her lips, of which he never could get enough.
Regretfully, they separated from each other. Now that the outline of a plan had started to take shape, each needed to find an explanation – logical or not – of the bizarre events, each felt the need to act somehow.
She rose and, digging through the disorganized library, she unearthed a stack of white sheets and a not very sharp pencil, which she had discovered during the inspection she performed in every corner of the cabin on the day of her arrival.
“Can you manage with these?” she asked him, tightening the belt of her robe, after she put the sheets and pencil on the table, in front of him.
“Why not? Come and sit by me,” he indicated with his palm the still warm seat she had occupied on his left.
Clara hesitated.
“And how do you think this thing is going to help us?” she asked, skeptically.
“First of all,” he answered, grabbing the pencil, “we’ll both have an image of her. We could show it to Rose. Maybe someone saw her, maybe she stayed here at one time or another, maybe she disappeared here or... perhaps she was killed or drowned in the lake.” Colin looked seriously, straight in her eyes.
“There are many hypotheses, unlimited possibilities. Let’s start with the first step,” he said, kissing her gently on the forehead.
Clara, who had gone waxy hearing his assumptions, wet her lips and closed her eyes, trying to bring back in her memory the phantom-like apparition of that night.
Rendezvous with Hymera Page 5
