Racquel

To My Dear Reader,

Soon the holiday season will be upon us, and all people seek to spend time with those they love. It is a time to foster closeness with those whom we cherish and remind them how much they mean to us. I have often been asked if there has ever been a woman in my own life who has fueled my imagination and stirred the passionate fires deep within my soul. And while it is no secret that a pretty face or lithe form will always draw my attention, (at least for a short while), for the most part my life has been bereft of any such deep seeded emotion. However, there is one woman that I can truthfully say makes my heart quicken and my palms moisten every time my thoughts venture back to her. It can be said with a fair amount of certainty that she is the muse for whom these lurid tales are written. She inspires the creative spark within my spirit and has given me so much. I sincerely believe that I will never be able to pay her back fully. Now it would be ludicrous for me to think for even one moment that I am the only man who has seen and been with this vision of loveliness, in fact she will never belong solely to any one man, but any time spent with her can never be forgotten. It is just such an instance that this tale will relate. How a man however unknowingly came to know and be with my dearest Racquel.

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Sylvan sighed contentedly as he observed the beautiful scenery around him. There was a soft breeze playing over verdant, rolling hills. The sky was a deep lustrous azure lightly spotted with clouds that bore the appearance of newly spun cotton. The sun shone brightly and gave Sylvan a pleasant warm feeling as he surveyed this newly found paradise. A soft scent of lilac lilted into his nostrils as he leisurely crested the slope in front of him. The traveler looked around calmly. His mind was awash in feelings of peace and accomplishment, but most of all a tangible sense of belonging. In the distance he heard the muffled sound of waves crashing. Smiling to himself, Sylvan strolled over the hills until he found himself beholding the glorious vista of a vast crystalline ocean. Letting the soft breeze wash over him like an unseen wave he jogged down to the water’s edge. Sylvan quickly stripped to the waist and plunged into the refreshing whitecaps.

For what seemed like hours, Sylvan paddled and swam through the water. Finally he slowed his pace and gazing up at the sunshine began to float on top of the water, letting the peaceful current take him wherever it would. The swimmer’s breath caught in his throat when he looked back toward the beach. There was someone there! For the first time in as long as he could remember there was another person. While he was swimming back to shore, he spied a woman possessed of a startling beauty. She was clad in the most miniscule of swimming costumes. It was styled after the wardrobe, or lack thereof of the women found in the south pacific. This woman was small in stature, but this did nothing to hide the perfectly delicious curves of her breasts and hips. She had coppery red hair that when the sun shone down on it just right seemed to roll down her shoulders in a cascading wave of fire. Her skin looked as smooth and creamy as the finest ivory, and to Sylvan’s mind longed to be caressed. As he approached, he noticed her eyes were a hypnotic shade of gray, like the elusive silver foxes to be found only in the remotest parts of the forest. A soft smile played across her lips, but with a warning undercurrent that exuded some hidden malice. Almost as if she could rip a man to shreds in the same time used for a flirtatious glance. She luxuriantly stretched herself out like an exotic jungle cat while her admirer emerged from the water.

As Sylvan approached the woman, a jerking sensation, not unlike a seizure came over him. He was gripped by a violent shaking that seemed to forcibly throw him to the ground. With a supreme effort, he picked his face out of the sand. He saw a man dressed all in white standing a few yards away. This individual was a wild-eyed older man that if more refined might have carried a look of distinction, but now wore a mask of absolute distress and frustration. The man in white was gesticulating crazily and motioning for Sylvan to make no further movements toward the beautiful, (and certainly more inviting) woman. The fiery haired vixen began to beckon fetchingly. As Sylvan tried to take another step, he was wracked again by horrible tremors. The old man shrieked and began flinging pebbles at the stricken man’s head. One of the diminutive missiles struck its intended target right between the eyes, and dropped Sylvan to his knees. With eyes fluttering, the world turned black around him and he flopped face down in the sand.

Very slowly, Sylvan woke to find himself not on a beach, but face down in a moist field of grass. Upon rising, he discovered that he was standing in the middle of an immaculately manicured park where not a single blade of grass seemed out of place. There were lush elm trees overhanging a meandering cobblestone path. Birds of every kind with plumage that dazzled the eyes and an ornate marble fountain set in the center of it all. He at once felt a desire to praise the caretaker of such a magnificent oasis of serenity but realized more than likely no gentlemen would be forthcoming. Much like the beach this place too was devoid of any human company. It seemed to Sylvan to be a horrible waste to be placed in such a paradise with no one to share it with other than a maddeningly elusive woman and an unstable wizened old man. He slowly strolled through the idyllic park wondering not only how he ended up there, but also how he ended up on the beach to begin with. Where was he exactly? The park looked strangely familiar and yet he could not recall ever having set foot there before.

As he approached the fountain Sylvan observed that situated around its circumference were wooden benches of an uncommonly high quality and apparent comfort. Sitting himself on one of the mahogany couches, the bewildered man listened as soothing birdsong flitted on a rose scented breeze. As his relaxation increased, Sylvan surveyed his surroundings with more attention and it was not long before he spotted the ivory skinned beauty from the beach. This time she was clad in a flowing gown made of black velvet that accentuated the curves of her body in a most alluring fashion. She walked with a natural grace and radiated the air of a woman perfectly at ease in her environment. She slowly made her way around the fountain toward Sylvan. He noticed stillness in the air as she approached, the birds stopped singing and it seemed that her feet made no sound on the path. Pausing before Sylvan she held out a smooth, delicate hand. Captivated by her seemingly aristocratic beauty, he gently took her hand and walked with her.

“What is your name?” he asked. She took a few more steps before replying.

“Racquel.” A name befitting her elegance he thought as they continued down the winding path.

“Where are we?” He inquired, hoping this mysterious beauty could shed some light on their location not to mention the complete absence of people.

“I’m not exactly sure,” she replied “I do know that I’ve been here for as long as I can remember.” Sylvan tried remembering something, anything before he found himself standing in the grassy hills, but he could not. He felt vague impressions of…something, but no tangible memories. Where was he born? What did his first love kiss like? He could not rightfully say. There was the slightest tremor in his body, like an odd sense of displacement…the seizure again! Whirling about Sylvan could see the old man from the beach once again dressed in white pursuing them at a full sprint.

“Who is he?” the trembling Sylvan asked as Racquel turned to face the old man. Her countenance bore the look of barely concealed rage as she replied,

“He does not belong here.” The old man now was close enough for Sylvan to observe that he brandished what appeared to be small silver darts, their tips glittering in the afternoon sun.

“Get away from him!” The old man shrieked as he let fly his darts. With all his might Sylvan shoved Racquel off the path only to realize as he felt a multitude of stinging sensations penetrate his body that the darts were indeed meant for him after all. Quickly pulling them out, he made ready to face down the old man, but almost immediately his vision blurred and his body trembled more furiously then before. He looked for Racquel, but she was nowhere to be seen. All that Sylvan could see was a look of fatigued satisfaction on the face of the old man as unconsciousness enveloped him.

With a dull throb in his head, Sylvan opened his eyes fully expecting to find himself still sprawled on the path in the park. To his utter astonishment, he awoke in a beautifully decorated sitting room. The elegant furniture was well padded and designed in the Victorian style, with fine woods and comfortable material. Sylvan was dressed in the finest clothes of the period. A large bay window looked out onto a street that was seemingly like any other, only this place too was completely lacking in people. Turning back to his immediate surroundings, Sylvan heard a log crackling in the hearth and was thankful for it as it gave the room some very pleasing warmth. Hanging above the mantle was a framed portrait of Racquel. The artist had employed the full measure of his talent when painting this likeness. The image was incredibly lifelike with none of her intoxicating beauty lost in translation.

“I’m pleased you’ve made yourself comfortable.” A soft voice came from the doorway. Sylvan turned and felt his heart skip a beat when he beheld the inspiration for the fine painting, which he knew would always pale in comparison with the genuine article. An inviting smile illuminated her wonderfully Nordic features while she spoke. She was dressed in a luxurious forest green velvet dress that made her skin seem to glow with an inner luster. Her garment was that of the same period as the furnishings. Sylvan let his gaze settle on the delicate line of her throat, but soon found it slowly descending with the alluring neckline of the dress. His thoughts wandered as he envisioned leaving a trail of warm, delicate kisses on this woman’s bosom. Without another word, she entered the room and sat herself down in an ebony chair opposite her guest. From a silver tea service she poured a cup for Sylvan and one for herself. Sylvan smiled gratefully as he sipped the piping hot brew.

A furious knock on the window hammered through the comfortable silence like church bells in the middle of the night. Sylvan jumped when she saw the manic visage of the old man staring into the sitting room. Racquel let out an exhalation of pure annoyance, but said nothing further as a brick came crashing through the window! Glass slivers littered the room in a translucent shower as the old man fully leapt into the chamber. Racquel sprang out of her chair and made to grab Sylvan’s hand to lead him away from the old man, but her adversary was a step ahead. Without a moment’s warning he tossed the steaming contents of the teapot into her face. She let out a blood-curdling shriek and ran from the room, her hands covering her badly burned face. With surprising speed, the old man dove and tackled Sylvan before he could make good his escape. Kicking and screaming, he struggled against the old man’s grasp, but found that he was held fast by a wiry strength that belied his opponent’s appearance. Sylvan began to snap his teeth near the old man’s forearm, which quickly lashed out and struck Sylvan a blow across the jaw. As a consequence his struggles diminished greatly. The old man then produced a vial of clear liquid, opened Sylvan’s mouth, and poured the elixir down his throat. He then clamped a wrinkled hand over the nose and mouth to be sure the liquid truly went down the desired path. When he was certain of success, the old man released Sylvan from his grip and happily watched as Sylvan sunk back into unconsciousness.

Sylvan’s eyelids fluttered open. Of all the environments that could have been waiting for him, this was perhaps the most disconcerting. All he saw was…nothing. He was surrounded by whiteness, and seemed to almost be floating through nothingness. Much of his physical strength seemed to have left him, but as his vision cleared a bit more, his mind followed suit and he observed that he was not floating at all, but merely laying on a high bed in a mostly white room. He started when he saw a woman’s face looking down at him. This was not Racquel. This was a new woman. She was a youngish looking black woman. She had a kindly face and a smile that he found to be very pleasant. A tag on her blouse said “Angela”.

“Well, look who’s awake.” Sylvan looked around and then figured she must be talking to him. His voice shared the same weakness that permeated his body, but with considerable effort he managed a soft whisper.

“Where am I?” Angela just smiled reassuringly and patted his hand. Her skin was so soft. Sylvan found himself musing that if the rest of her was so soft, her husband was a very lucky man indeed. Angela turned and left. Sylvan would have liked to get a glimpse of her rear as she exited the room, but could barely lift his head. In spite of his lack of strength, he felt calm and very much at ease. Gazing around the room, he saw Racquel standing in the far corner. As always, she was a vision of absolute beauty and seemed to bear no ill effects from the old man’s assault. She wore a tight fitting black dress that left very little to the imagination. The only flaw in her features was the look of abject melancholy that she wore like an actor’s mask in the ancient Greek theater. Sylvan’s breath caught in his throat when he saw none other than the wild-eyed old man come striding confidently into the room. He seemed not to notice Racquel at all.

“You gave us quite a scare for a while there.” His voice as well as his face held none of the agitation or urgency of before. In fact, the old man was the picture of calm satisfaction.

“Who are you?” Sylvan weakly asked. He was almost afraid of the answer.

“I’m Doctor Wasserman. You were brought here after your accident. For a while it looked like we were gonna lose you. To be honest we had a few close calls on the table, but we were able to pull you out of it. I think it’s gonna be clear sailing for you from here on out.”

With this pronouncement, Racquel let out a sigh of resignation. Sylvan’s eyes widened in horror as Racquel’s cocktail dress grew in length and volume until it took on the appearance of a flowing black robe. It was not until she walked past the doctor (unseen by him) that Sylvan observed that she was now fully seven feet tall. Her pleasant features had melted away and now bore the frozen grin of a bleached skull. As tall as this being was, the scythe it carried was at least a foot taller. The specter made no sound as it went to leave the room. It simply paused in the doorway and turned once more towards Sylvan who felt his entire body go cold when he looked into those hollow, lifeless eye sockets. The wraith nodded familiarly once and then departed. Sylvan breathed easier when he saw Death take its leave of his room, but he knew all too well that his small victory and that of the doctor was only short-lived. It was inevitable that one day he would, with very different results once again find himself face to face with my dearest Racquel.

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