Slay Belles & Mayhem: A Medley of Dark Tales

by Dani René

  “That’s true, but we still have our own kind of wonders that shouldn’t be missed,” I point out, the last few tendrils of anxiety draining away. His worldly experience has me enchanted and awed. Rafe looks like he’s in his mid-thirties, but the way he talks has the sound of someone much older.

  Catching a glimpse of my youthful reflection in the nearby window, I take in my pale cheeks and red nose. The blue eyes that sparkle back are alive with happiness. Strands of long blonde hair are poking out from beneath my woollen, black hat.

  “Perhaps one day I’ll make a trip. Do you have family back in the states?” Raising his drink to his mouth, his lower lip seals against the rim of the mug. Eyes half closed, he drinks deeply with a look of pleasure.

  My gaze rest on the muscles of his throat in fascination as I watch them work as he swallows. “Parents and a younger brother. Do you have any family?”

  Lowering his mug, he wipes the residue of the hot liquid from his lips with the back of his hand. “Cousins mainly. Only two of us are close. The city has been our home now for quite a while. Call me old fashioned, but I’m surprised a woman as beautiful as you is traveling alone.”

  I pull a face at Rafe’s observation, secretly flattered at his comment. “I was supposed to come with Owen, my now ex-boyfriend. As the trip was already booked, I didn’t want to waste it. Do you work?”

  “I’m an artist,” Rafe tells me softly.

  That sparks my interest. “So that’s why you had a sketch pad tucked under your arm in the cemetery.”

  “I was indulging my love of drawing, but mostly, I paint. Whatever comes to me, scenes, people. I’m merely a vessel for my art. It lives through me. Flows onto the canvas to take shape. My hands move with a mind of their own…You’re very being sparkles when your happy, do you know that?”

  His mismatched eyes find mine. They contain so much depth and mystery I find myself drowning within them. Rafe’s lips tilt, not quite a smile but if he means to. Loneliness. It resonates off him, mirroring my own. In a sea of strangers, we’re somehow the same. Two lost souls looking for a connection.

  Heat warms my cold cheeks, butterflies dancing wildly in my stomach. Dropping his gaze, I reach for a chocolate macaroon, plucking it from the plate between us. “It does?”

  Bringing it to my mouth, I nibble on the treat, relishing the flavour.

  Rafe nods, staring at me for so long it’s as if he’s lost himself in the moment. “Will you go out with me tomorrow?”

  Excitement flares through me at his question, my heart beating faster. “You mean together?”

  “Yes.” There’s something sexy about the vulnerable look that flashes across his face. His outward confidence wavering with uncertainty at my response.

  My experience in dating only involves one guy, and he was nothing like the man sitting before me.

  Lifting my drink, I bite my lower lip. “Where?”

  Rafe releases an audible breath. “The catacombs beneath the City. A little macabre I know, but it shouldn’t be missed. I’m at your disposal until just after lunch, then I have to work.”

  “I’d like that.” Dipping my face behind the protection of my mug, I smile shyly. Rafe so easily charms me. A kinship I can’t explain. As if somehow our chance meeting was meant to be.

  He looks like he’s about to say more, but the sound of a mobile phone going off distracts him. The Addams family theme song fills the air between us. It’s loud enough to bring the attention of people at other tables our way.

  Biting my lip, I giggle. Strangely enough, the familiar melody suits him. He’s definitely quirky and different than anyone I’ve met before.

  Patting down his trouser pockets, Rafe finds his phone just as the noise cuts off.

  Thick, low brows draw together as he stares at the screen. “I’m sorry, Samantha. My cousin needs my help with something that can’t wait,” he apologizes, looking up to find my gaze. “I’m afraid I’ll have to leave you for now.”

  Disappointment clouds my happy mood. “It’s ok; I understand.”

  Lowering my mug, I reach for another macaroon, the purple treat held between my forefinger and thumb. I can’t explain why my heart sinks. I barely know Rafe at all.

  “I’ll meet you tomorrow morning at eleven outside this café,” he promises as if sensing my displeasure. “Until then, be safe.”

  Uncoiling from his chair, he rakes some black curls out of his face, giving me a gallant bow. I watch as he weaves his way through the tables until he reaches the door. Observing him from the window, I mirror his wave before he vanishes along the street. It’s then I realize I should have asked for his number. The chance slipping through my fingers like wisps of smoke.

  Chapter Three

  Nerves have my stomach in knots as I make my way back to the café from the evening before. Our chosen meeting place at eleven am. It gave me plenty of time to sleep in. Have a leisurely breakfast and prepare.

  The rain has been falling since I woke, steady, soft drops from the drab silver, gray clouds heavy and swollen. It’s taken the edge off the winter frigidness wind, but it’s still enough to take my breath away. Clutching my cheap umbrella in one gloved hand, I pass the people hurrying around me, their movements brisk and unbreaking.

  Hopeful gaze sweeping the street, I see a familiar figure. Rafe is sheltering beneath a building. For a moment I’m oblivious of the world around me. Hair damp, the long coat he’s wearing falls to his ankles. It doesn’t look like much protection against the wet weather. A dab of blue paint decorates his right cheek, and a stripe of it is entangled in a lock of his dark hair. Rafe seems to be lost in thought, his dark brows furrowed, handsome face sombre.

  As if sensing my presence, his head swings in my direction, and our gazes lock. Stepping out from his refuge, he walks toward me. The small pelts hit his head and shoulders, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Rushing forward to meet him halfway, I shield him beneath my umbrella.

  “Rafe, you’re all wet,” I scold, playfully laughing. “You don’t want to catch a cold or the flu.”

  “Ready to have the time of your life?” he asks unconcerned. Taking my free hand, his fingers entwining in mine in a loose grip.

  I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my lips. “Yes.”

  He talks of art and masterpieces on our way there. Emotions playing across his face as quickly as a brush dipped into the essence of his soul and painting me a picture of his desires and passions. Rafe is the embodiment of a world I’ve never encountered before. The old-world charisma I’ve read about in books. Poetry and art entangled with something mysterious, which keeps me so captivated.

  Soon, we’re before a forbidding pair of black doors. I peek at the multiple signs announcing that what lays ahead isn’t for the faint hearted. A young man opens the doors to us. Giving Rafe a friendly nod, he bustles us inside before disappearing.

  My steps falter as I see no one else around. “Where are the other tourists? Aren’t we supposed to have a guide?”

  Rafe’s arm curves around my waist, urging me further in as I hesitate. “I’ve arranged a private seeing. I’ve been down here numerous times. You won’t get lost with me; I promise.” He produces a torch from the pocket of his coat and offers it to me. “Just in case you need it.”

  Leading me to a spiraling staircase, we descend for what seems like forever. Doing my research before meeting him, I know the catacombs lay in an old quarry. Rafe guides me through a maze of narrow pillared corridors and stone sculptured galleries. We don’t linger in the museum before the catacomb entrance.

  I eye the inscription carved above the doorway uneasily. “What does that say?”

  “Arréte! C’est ici L’empire de la Mort. Stop. This is the empire of the dead,” Rafe translates, his quiet accented voice making the ominous warning even more sinister. “The bones of more than six million people are housed here. It was created to eliminate the cities overflowing cemeteries. It’s the largest necropolis in the world,” he exp
lains, trying to soothe my anxiety.

  I’m more aware of how deep beneath the quaint Parisian streets we are. In a damp, cold, hidden subterranean world of one thousand three hundred miles of sewers, caverns, alleys, and intersections.

  “All these souls. Do you think they’re still here?”

  “That would be sad, wouldn’t it? Trapped between life and death forced to exist on and on forever.” Sorrow is woven within Rafe’s words that I don’t understand why it makes him so sad. “Parts of the catacombs are forbidden, but people still come down here. They have secret ways in.”

  The smell of incense infused, dusty air reminds me of being inside a church mixed with mildew and stagnant water. As we wander within, I’m struck with a morbid sense of fascination. Well-lit skulls and bones have been stacked in perfect symmetric styles. Towers, crosses, and various designs reflect a macabre artwork. Rows and rows of deep piles are on either side of the tiny paths that wind through the tunnels. We roam in silence, Rafe leading the way through the intertwining passageways and rooms. Stopping to turn in a slow circle, I absorb the oppressive atmosphere.

  “I feel at home down here among dead things,” Rafe murmurs behind me.

  Eyebrows pinching together in disbelief, I frown. “It’s claustrophobic and morose. It’s makes you face your mortality and that nothing lasts forever.”

  He doesn’t reply.

  Turning, I find him nowhere in sight. “Rafe?”

  Silence.

  “Rafe?” Fingers of one gloved hand clenching tightly around the torch, I stand still, my ears straining for any thread of sound. Shuffling into the next room, I check around. There’s still no sign of my tall, dark companion. Tension spirals though my limbs, an onset of a panic attack taking root. Where is he? If this is a joke, I don’t like it.

  It’s then I catch a noise. Faint at first. Eerie. Low.

  Rats? There must be millions of them down here. Beady-eyed and furry.

  Listening closely, it morphs into something my frightened brain knows.

  Whispering. Voices. Words.

  All merged into a growing symphony of sound.

  Not French.

  Latin.

  Rosa di sanguine.

  I recognize that much. Hundreds of voices urgent, frightened. They mutter and mumble, the young to the old.

  Rosa di sanguine.

  Eyes widening in fear, I find no source to it. Disembodied, it only builds around me, invisible and frightening.

  Rosa di sanguine.

  The bright light fixed in the corner of the tunnel flickers. Backing up in panic, my spine bumps into something hard. A stack of leering skulls greets me as I whirl around. Wiping at my skin in sheer alarm, I try to rid myself of the film of bone dust that coats my head and face from where I’ve disturbed it.

  The voices rise in volume, the chant pulsing through my blood and veins. Pressing my hands over my ears, I try to block out the sound. My heart thumps wildly to the sound of it. Everything spins, and it feels like the ground beneath me is shaking.

  “Rafe.” My cry is a plea. Claustrophobia closes in. I can’t breathe. The air in my lungs clogs in my throat.

  Silence.

  It cuts through my senses as sharp as a knife. The sudden empty hush. Dragging in a ragged breath, I search frantically around.

  Rafe steps from the shadows, a dark presence with gleaming odd eyes. “Don’t be frightened. I’m here.”

  His arms open in welcome as I hurry into their safety, wrapping my own around his well-built waist in relief. “Where did you go? Why did you leave me?”

  His lips press softly against my forehead in a soothing gesture. “I heard a noise too and went to check for others. Someone probably thought it would be fun to mess around and scare you. People sneak down here, through manholes, to party. Cults come to perform rituals. There’s a whole secret community that uses this place.”

  It sounds logical. Still, my heart races, my nerves jumpy. Images of hooded monks and ravenous ghosts dance fancifully through my head. Burrowing closer, my gloved hands clutch at his shirt, the sides of his coat enclosing me in needed warmth.

  “You’re shaking.” Drawing my chin up, Rafe kisses me quickly. A brief peck on the lips that leaves my mouth tingling. “You stood among tomb stones in the cemetery. An angel surrounded by the dead. You light up the world so brightly that I could not resist basking in its beauty. Don’t let these old bones frighten you now.”

  “You promise not to disappear on me again?” I ask, tone edged with beseeching.

  “Never,” he promises, his strong arms hugging me tightly in return. “Your nose is bleeding.”

  Raising my hand, it comes away streaked with blood staining the wool. “Damn it. I’m not sure why this keeps happening. It’s the second time in the last few days. Maybe it’s the cold weather?”

  A crisp, clean, white cotton handkerchief appears before me. Thanking Rafe with a grateful smile, I hold it to my nose, trying to stem the flow of red.

  “The exit is this way,” he tells me solemnly with a gesture in the direction. “Let’s go and gets some air.”

  I agree quickly, happy to be away from the catacombs. Moving faster than we entered, we hurry out into the rain-washed street. The day is still gloomy, but I’m thankful for the light.

  Rafe retrieves his torch from my hand, hiding it away in his coat pocket. Rescuing me from a one-handed struggle with the umbrella, he clicks it up to safeguard us from the falling rain.

  Dabbing at my nose, I find the nosebleed subsiding as quickly as it had started. “I’m sorry I’ve ruined your handkerchief.”

  Mismatched eyes gaze down at the crimson discolouring the fabric before he takes it stuffing it into one of his pockets. “I have plenty more.”

  Pressed together under the umbrella, we walk with brisk steps along the street. Thunder rumbles over head, and the storm doesn’t look like it will let up any time soon, lightening streaking through the silver-streaked, gray sky.

  “I was planning to take you to Manoir de Paris. I don’t think that’s a good idea today. Perhaps something less frightening?” Rafe suggests, hailing us a taxi. Bundling into the back, we sit with our knees touching, listening to the music blaring from the cab driver’s radio.

  The Eiffel tower soon comes into view. Well-practiced French flows from Rafe’s lips as he pays the cab driver. Umbrella keeping us from being soaked, we walk through the Trocadero Gardens to the Aquarium de Paris.

  “It houses the largest collection of jelly fish in Europe,” Rafe informs me as we join the small water-logged queue. “A little less frightening than a horror attraction.”

  “Your really into spooky things, aren’t you?” I laugh, glad we’re here instead of the other place he planned. After the catacombs, I’m not sure I could take another fright.

  Rafe stares at me for a moment, thoughts swirling behind his eyes. “Nothing scares me anymore.”

  With the rainy weather, it’s kept many people indoors. I’m grateful we don’t have to wait long to enter the underground Aquarium. I feel like an eager child again. Bouncing on my toes, I give a little squeal of excitement after we pay for our tickets.

  “It also has cinemas and a stage for shows.” Rafe’s voice is low and wreathed in amusement at my behaviour. Hand in hand, we begin to explore, his fingers wrapped around mine.

  With over forty-three tanks and ten thousand different specimens of fish to see, I take my time lingering at each habitat. Some occupants are vibrant and thin. Others are larger. A rainbow sheen of delicate scales dances before my eyes, gleaming bodies darting through the water.

  When we hit the coral reef section, I start pointing out the tropical fish I know. Rafe asks questions, absorbing my answers. It’s the shark tank, though, that holds his attention when we reach it. Gliding through the water, they move soundlessly.

  Shivering at the rows of teeth I see gaping in one of the larger one’s mouth, I feel a thread of unease.

  “Did you know it’s a
myth that a shark can smell a single drop of blood from miles away,” Rafe murmurs.

  “They’re horrible things.” I shudder in revulsion. People move past us, their voices hushed and expressions awed as they take in the predators separated from us by a sheet of glass.

  “No. Just miss understood.” Laying his palm on the cool glass, he watches as another passes us by. “They’re seen as cold emotionless monsters. What people don’t realise is they can’t escape they’re nature. Born predators, it’s all they know.”

  The other fish shoot away, spooked by Rafe’s presence instead of being curious like they have been with me. It’s almost as if they’re afraid of him. Beady, black, the eyes of the shark remain focused on the man watching it with such avid interest it doesn’t shy away.

  Rafe sounds so sad. Compassion welling up, I place my smaller hand over his in comfort. His skin is cold, but I can sense the leashed strength beneath my palm.

  “Come on, let’s walk through the tunnel,” I tell him with a smile, wanting to cheer him up.

  We meander through the transparent passageway, gazing at the coral and occupants that are swimming above us on either side. It’s a unique experience I know I’m going to cherish. When we reach the gift shop, I buy myself a pretty fluffy clown fish keyring as a memento. Rafe waits for me patiently, idly flicking through some postcards on a stand.

  Thanking the cashier in my clumsy French, I move to join him.

  “This is for you,” I tell him, stuffing the furry gray shark keyring into his hand. “A thank you for taking me out.”

  Fingers curling around its softness, he looks at it in surprise. “You bought this for me?”

  Pushing the plastic bag, which keeps my own purchase into the bottom of my shoulder bag, I zip it up tightly. “You liked the sharks. I thought it would be a nice souvenir.”

  Cocking his head, his thumb strokes its softness reverently. “Thank you, Samantha, I’ll treasure it.”

  That makes a bubble of joy burst through my heart. I know it’s a silly little thing, but I like it when Rafe is happy. We’re having fun, and I don’t want that to ever change.