Dragonfly of Venus

by Susan Ferrier MacKay

  Declan unzipped his leather pants, releasing his giant erection. Hoisting one leg, he positioned himself astride the bike, rubbing the tip of his dick against her. “Hold on baby,” he said. “We’re going for a different kind of ride.”

  Elizabeth knew that the Butterfly of Venus move involved one finger in each hole with one tongue on her clit. Dragonfly meant two fingers in each hole and two alternating tongues. Fox’s tongue was going to be the other one.

  Declan revved the engine of the bike before slipping two fingers in her ass. Throbbing vibrations consumed Elizabeth’s entire body. Two fingers slipped into her vagina. She was full. Her clitoris was hard and swollen. Fox dipped his head down and played it with the tip of his tongue, as skillfully as a string player in a symphony. Then Declan took his turn. Elizabeth felt as if she was being swallowed in an ocean of pleasure. She was certain the other men in the room were all bringing themselves to orgasm as they watched Dragonfly of Venus being performed in front of them.

  “Fuck me now Declan. Fuck me hard,” implored Elizabeth. She stared at Fox, now leisurely stroking his dick, enjoying the event. He was licking his lips, re-tasting her. He was sexy. Declan was sexy. She was sexier than she’d ever been in her life. This situation she was imagining was hotter than hot. She came in one long pounding spasm.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Declan slept for almost fifteen hours. He woke up disoriented. Nothing in the room looked familiar. A red suitcase, open on a chair, contained clothes that belonged to a woman. Beside them, on a different chair was a new-looking pair of man’s pants, a shirt, a burgundy sweater, and pair of sneakers. They must belong to him as his raggedy old clothes were no longer there.

  Women’s toiletries were set out on a shelf in the bathroom, along with Declan’s Swiss Army knife. He picked it up and examined its many utilities including a mini-saw and a magnifying glass. One of the knives had a thin trace of blood and dirt along the edge. The weight of the tool was familiar and pleasing to him. It was a tool of survival.

  Declan turned on the shower and stepped into the tub. Hot water cascading over his body felt heavenly. He lathered himself and washed his hair. Just as he was finishing up he heard someone come in.

  “Decky?” called a woman’s voice. Natasha poked her head around the bathroom door,

  “Oh good, you’re up. Here’s scissors so you can trim that beard.”

  “If you’ve got a razor…”

  Natasha shook her head.

  “No, keep the beard. It’ll help disguise you. Just make it neat and tidy.”

  While Declan trimmed away, he could hear Natasha humming happily in the bedroom. She came back in and appraised him.

  “Much better. We’re gonna grab something to eat and get going, but first I’m gonna treat that burn.”

  Natasha covered the blisters of Declan’s arm with antiseptic then covered them with gauze, all the while talking about things that made no sense to Declan. She was his wife. They had two children. He was wanted for murder.

  Natasha was mystified how Declan had managed to burn himself on a deserted island. The magnifying glass probably had something to do with it. Somewhere, Declan must have made fire. Just then Natasha noticed the scar that ran down Declan’s leg.

  “Oh God, Decky. What happened?”

  Declan had no idea, just as he had no idea about the burn on his arm. As far as he knew, the scar on his leg had always been there. Natasha traced her hand up it. She was tempted to keep going and fondle the jewels she remembered, but they had to get going.

  “What did I do before….you know?”

  “You were a martial arts instructor,” said Natasha. This wasn’t such a stretch, she thought. It was widely known that Declan Thomas had a black belt in karate.

  “That’s why your punch was so lethal.” said Natasha, “that’s why you’re wanted.”

  Declan found it hard to believe he was a wanted man, although clearly not as far as Natasha was concerned.

  “You say we’re married?” asked Declan. He noticed the wedding band on Natasha’s left hand. “Where’s my ring?”

  “You were never a fan of jewelry. We agreed you didn’t have to wear one. Lots of men don’t.”

  Natasha had been waiting for the perfect moment to show Declan her doctored photo.

  “See, we had a beautiful wedding. Look what a great couple we make.”

  Declan had to agree. Natasha was stunning. She kissed him firmly on the mouth. He tasted strawberry lip-gloss.

  “And here’s me pushing the kids,” said Natasha. Declan looked at the photo.

  “This one looks like it’s from a paper,” said Declan.

  “Yes, I’m quite famous as a model,” said Natasha. “Photographers follow me everywhere in Canada. It’s a real drag, 'specially when they take pictures of the kids, but what can I do?

  “We’re from Canada?” asked Declan.

  “Yes, and we’re going back as soon as I can arrange it,” said Natasha. “I’ve been waiting a long time for you Declan. I’d take you to bed right now but we’ve got to leave. We’ll have plenty of time for that later.”

  While Declan dressed, Natasha packed up her things.

  “They’re still serving breakfast downstairs,” she said. "Go and eat. I’ll put the case in the car.” Natasha handed him sunglasses and tweed cap. “Keep these on and don’t talk too much.”

  Dressed conservatively, with his face hidden by glasses and a beard, Declan looked unremarkable. He could easily pass for a fisherman or hunter.

  The dining room was empty except for a small man reading a fishing magazine. Declan sat at a white linen-covered table. A young girl appeared holding a silver pot.

  “Coffee sir?”

  Declan nodded.

  “Would you like porridge or corn flakes?”

  “Porridge please,” said Declan.

  “Followed by the full Scottish?”

  Declan nodded again. Natasha joined him ordering only coffee for herself. She placed her hand over his.

  “I’ve been online and found us a place in Glasgow,” she whispered.

  “Then what?” asked Declan.

  “It shouldn’t take too long,” said Natasha.

  “What shouldn’t take too long?”

  “A fake passport,” said Natasha.

  Declan’s mind reeled. He was married. He had children. He’d murdered someone. And now his wife was getting him a fake passport so he could return to Canada. It was all too much to absorb.

  The waitress set a bowl of steaming porridge in front of Declan.

  “Careful you don’t burn yourself,” said Natasha. “Maybe let it cool a bit.”

  “Burning porridge,” said Declan. He looked at Natasha for the answer to a question he couldn’t form.

  “Eat up Decky,” said Natasha impatiently. “We gotta get on the road.”

  The grey mass in a bowl suddenly didn’t appeal to Declan. The thought of eating anything made him nauseous.

  “Cancel breakfast,” he told Natasha. “I’m not hungry.”

  Natasha signaled the waitress.

  “We’ve changed our minds about eating. Can you cancel the order?”

  The young girl looked flustered.

  “Was it not to your liking sir?”

  “Yes, yes, it was fine,” said Natasha. “We’ve just realized we have to be somewhere. Bring us the bill.”

  “Breakfast is included with your room,” said the girl. “You can settle up with Mrs. Fitz-Hughes at the front desk.”

  Natasha handed Declan the keys to the car.

  “Go out the side door Decky. I’ll meet you in a minute.”

  Natasha made her way to the reception area and handed her key to the proprietor.

  Mrs. Fitz-Hughes looked over her pince-nez glasses with disapproval.

  “You booked a single room, Ms. Khomeini,” she said.

  “Yeah, so?” said Natasha.

  “I believe a gentleman stayed the night.”

  �
��No gentleman,” said Natasha. “That was my husband.”

  “Hmmn.” Mrs. Fitz-Hughes instinctively didn’t believe a word from this young woman’s mouth. “In any case, you’ll have to pay the rate for a double,” she said.

  “Sure, whatever,” said Natasha flipping her plastic onto the desktop. She signed a credit card slip for the room and left.

  Mrs. Fitz-Hughes called her husband in from the garden where he was weeding.

  “Jim,” she said. “Did you see that young man who left by the side door?”

  “Not really,” mumbled Jim wiping his hands on his dungarees.

  “I could have sworn he was wearing your clothes,” said Mrs. Fitz-Hughes. “How very curious.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  The drive to Glasgow took six hours.

  “Why do they have all these fucking roundabouts?” said Natasha, shifting gears and narrowly missing a collision with a mini van. “They’re ridiculous.”

  Declan had been silent for most of the journey.

  “Who are the kids?” he asked Natasha suddenly.

  “What kids? Oh you mean ours?”

  “Yes, our kids,” said Declan. “I don’t remember them. Who are they?”

  “They’re twins. A boy and a girl.”

  “Go on.”

  Natasha thought back frantically, trying to recall what she’d read.

  “They’re three.”

  “What are their names?”

  “Er…there’s Jack and…” Natasha pretended to be distracted by a pedestrian crossing while she tried to recall the name of the girl.

  “Jack and who?” said Declan.

  “Camille.” Phew, thank God she remembered in time.

  “And where are they now?”

  “They’re staying with your mother.”

  Declan looked surprised.

  “That’s impossible. My mother is dead. She died a long time ago.”

  While most of his past remained a mystery Declan was at least certain of this fact.

  Natasha laughed. “No, no, no Decky. Goodness you’re confused. She’s very much alive. I just saw her.”

  “Where?”

  “In Toronto. That’s where we live.”

  “What happened to me? How did I end up on that island?”

  “Here’s the story,” said Natasha. She’d known these questions would arise and had thought about the answers.

  “You and I were having a little anniversary vacation touring around Scotland. You got into the fight in the bar and I knew I had to keep you hidden until I could get you new I.D. We got you camping supplies, and your Swiss Army knife. I hid you on Handa Island. Then I got a message from your mother saying the twins were really sick so I had to fly back to Canada. They were a lot sicker than anyone knew so I couldn’t leave them until now. And it’s not as if I could tell anyone you were there.”

  “What was wrong with them, the kids?” asked Declan.

  “Meningitis…suspected meningitis,” said Natasha. “They had to be hospitalized but turned out it was nothing, just a bad flu. They’re okay now.”

  “This woman, the one you say is my mother, didn’t she wonder where I was?”

  “I told her your passport had been stolen and that you were waiting for a replacement.”

  “Oh.”

  Declan thought about being on the island. “I don’t remember camping gear, or supplies.”

  “There were some terrible storms Decky. Your tent and things must’ve blown away.”

  “But why can’t I remember anything?”

  “My guess is that you fell and hit your head. From the look of all those eggshells where I found you, you managed to survive on eggs. What else did you eat?”

  “Kelp mostly,” said Declan. “I caught a bird once. And a rabbit.”

  Natasha reached for Declan’s leg and gave it a squeeze.

  “Anyway babe, the important thing is that I’m here now and I’m gonna take real good care of you.”

  Natasha parked the car and checked them into Glasgow Lofts, a building where you could rent furnished suites by the day. Their one-bedroom suite featured modern leather furniture, a kitchen with granite countertops, and a king-sized bed.

  “Why don’t you take another shower babe while I unpack. Then I’ll go find us something to eat. You must be starving,” said Natasha.

  Declan’s stomach grumbled and gurgled in agreement.

  “Okay.”

  When Natasha heard the full force of the shower running, she slipped into the living room and snipped the cable line to the back of the television. There was no way Declan would be getting any news from the outside world. She set about unpacking her suitcase, placing her wedding photo on the bed for Declan to see. The more times he was reminded of their marriage the better. She made a mental list of the things she had to accomplish. First, food. Then, a wardrobe and suitcase for Declan. Then a passport photo. The loft was centrally located in a shopping area so all these things could be easily purchased.

  “Okay babe, I’m going out for supplies,” said Natasha as Declan emerged from the bathroom. “Just relax. The TV doesn’t work but there’s plenty of DVD’s," said Natasha.

  She took Declan by the hand. She thought to herself that he seemed almost childlike. She picked out an action movie and set it up for him.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said.

  Declan nodded. “Sure thing.”

  As soon as the musical score started up, melodies began playing in Declan’s head. Notes and fragments of music started swirling around. Somehow, he was connected to music.

  Directly across from the lofts was a Primark store. Natasha bustled through it throwing a selection of men’s clothing into a shopping cart: socks, underwear, shirts, pants, a couple of sweaters, a pair of shoes, a lightweight jacket and a suitcase. Having loaded up the suitcase, she went to Marks and Spencer’s food court for basic supplies and some frozen meals. Next she went to the off-license where she purchased two bottles of wine. Laden down with her purchases she made her way back up to their suite. She entered to the sound of gunfire. The DVD was playing loudly, but to hershock the suite was empty. Declan was gone.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Joan sorted through her hallway cupboard where she kept old photo albums. They too were a thing of the past. Finally, she found the album she was looking for. It contained pictures of Declan as a child. Declan on a tricycle. Declan with his two front teeth missing. Declan in a blow-up swimming pool. Memories surged back. What had Byron said to her? How long can the dead spread sorrow? Declan’s death had certainly spread a lot of sorrow into her life, as well as Elizabeth’s, and now those two poor children had to grow up without a father.

  Weeping silently, Joan flipped through pictures, so many years condensed into images on paper. She was certain she’d kept a lock of Declan’s childhood hair from his first official visit to the barber. Yes, here it was, wrapped in tissue, spun gold like gossamer silk. She inhaled the faintest scent of shampoo and innocence. Oh my dear son, said Joan to herself as tears rolled down her cheeks. My dearest, dearest son.

  ***

  Effie charged into the makeshift basement office of ‘Rags ‘n’ Beats.’ She kissed Peabody on the head.

  “You, my dear, are an absolute genius,” she told him. “Sweeney loved it. He loved your layout.” She turned to Elizabeth.

  “Honey, we’re in business.”

  Effie had just come from a meeting with John Sweeney, a potential investor who’d made millions inventing a wildly successful board game. Effie had successfully raised the capital to launch their magazine.

  “Fantastic Effie,” said Elizabeth hugging her. “That’s great news.”

  Effie twirled around their office space.

  “There’s people in the parade, there’s people watching the parade, and there’s people who don’t even know there is a parade,” she crowed.

  “And we’re leading the parade,” laughed Elizabeth.

  “Don’t for
get the other group,” said Peabody.

  “Who’s that?” asked Effie and Elizabeth together.

  “People who know there’s a parade and who don’t give a fuck,” he said.

  “Can we include you in this latter group?” asked Elizabeth.

  “Def,” said Peabody turning back to his computer.

  Pea was turning out to be an invaluable asset. He was creative, hard working and possessed a sardonic sense of humour. The women had decided to take him on full-time.

  “Think it’d be okay to invite Mr. Sweeney to our party?” said Effie at the end of the day.

  “Absolutely. He’ll practically be the guest of honour.”

  The friends were planning a cocktail party as a housewarming. Now they could also celebrate Rags ‘n’ Beats.’ Together, Elizabeth and Effie were becoming a powerful dynamic force.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Trying to appear nonchalant, Natasha asked the concierge if he’d seen Declan.

  “About your height. Wearing a cap and dark glasses,” she said.

  “Yeah,” he replied. “Went out twenty minutes ago.”

  “Which direction? Did you see?”

  “Turned left.”

  “Thanks.”

  Natasha turned onto Buchanan Street scanning it frantically. Young mothers pushed babies in prams, school children wearing kilts marched double-file behind their teacher, boys whizzed by on bikes, several elderly ladies, went into a tea room but there was no sign of Declan.

  Natasha decided to try Sauchiehall Street, the main shopping thoroughfare of Glasgow. It was one block away. What the fuck was Declan thinking? Well, he wasn’t thinking. She was doing the thinking for both of them.

  Turning a corner, Natasha could hear the infectious Latin rhythms of a live band playing down the street. On a hunch, following the sound, she saw a small crowd gathered around a group of South American musicians. Sure enough, there was Declan, bopping along to the beat.