Years ago, when Art Souza (aka "Neo") was opening Liquid Sky, his new dance club on Commercial Street, he talked it up on the Internet. A girl he frequently chatted with was Rebecca "Beque" Connolly, who agreed to drop by and check out this new venue. Armed with a burly buddy (in case Souza was a nut), she showed up asking for him one night. "I remember seeing this woman walk down the street wearing a red corset and cape," says Souza. "I remember thinking this woman is the most amazing, beautiful woman I had ever seen."

That never changed. Beyond love at first sight, the two were married shortly after, fostering a sometimes volatile, but insanely close and unconventional union. They were the exhibitionist couple, openly bisexual scenesters in the clubs, with Beque turning heads with her multiple piercings, tattoos and fiery personality. Connolly's Lady Beque Web site left little to the imagination. Even after Liquid Sky closed down, they hosted fetish nights at clubs such as Rage.

Beque was a tortured soul, though, who was never completely able to claw out from under the weight of a troubled past. She suffered paralyzing panic attacks. This past weekend, the torture finally quieted.

Beque passed away sometime last Saturday afternoon. After sleeping facedown, with her usual regimen of panic medications streaming through her blood, it appears she may have suffocated in her own pillows.

Early Sunday morning, the local club community was shocked to read, on her site and on wormtownnightlife.com (http://wormtownnightlife.com), Souza's aching account of her passing and deeply mournful goodbye. It was meant to soothe his pain, and let the community know she was gone.

"Beque was suicidal before," says Souza, who had called Beque's mom over to help this past weekend because the attack was so extreme, "but that's not what this was. I don't know what this was. She had panic attacks and Friday, she got in the tub and I could see her slip away. Usually these attacks ended, but it was different this time."

On Friday, Beque took Klonopin and another sedative she used. Souza picked her up from the tub and put her in bed early Saturday morning, looking into the bedroom throughout the day. He even turned up the heat and fixed her blankets a few times.

"At 5:30 at night," says Souza, "I went up to see if she wanted water or food. I touched her butt. It was solid and cold. Her face was buried in the bed. I flipped her over and was screaming for her to wake up. I called 911. I thought the EMTs could do something, but they said she had been dead for a while. Before they took her, I knelt down and said 'Baby, you need to wake up. They think you're dead and I know you're fucking around.'"

She wasn't. Souza is understandably in a state of disbelief and despair only seen in someone who has lost a piece of their soul. He's taken to posting her pics all over his walls, and watches their Las Vegas wedding video. Still, he knows the biggest tribute to Rebecca Harmony Connolly is to "pack the place" on Thursday, Nov. 17, when her calling hours will be held. That, as anyone who knew Beque would tell you, is indeed the biggest tribute we can give.

"In her life, she wanted to be the center of attention," says Souza. "I want to do that for her. I think we'll have a bar and cover to come in. I want the place packed. She was a social butterfly."

She'll be buried in her wedding dress, as Beque's mom has said that "that was the only day in her life she was truly happy."