The Cries of the Butterfly - A LOVE STORY (83 page)

Goosebumps began popping down Wolf’s spine, like a chain of firecrackers. He was scared himself, terribly scared. But he knew he could not lose it, for his brother’s sake. He could feel Art’s body through the shirt—it was cold and damp and shivering.

“Oh no, Wolf, you really must leave now! I can’t let you be hurt. This is my mess…I made it, I must take care to it…I cannot involve you… Please go! Jump, Wolf, jump off, you’ll be okay… But I must do it, I must save our family…I must be stopped…I can’t help myself, Wolf, I’ll keep harming them…please help me…please hold me tight, I’m so afraid … Get off, Wolf, go…they need you…I need you…you are such an inspiration to me. I’m so proud to have you as my brother…don’t let go of me, Wolf… Leave, Wolf, go, oh, please go…” His voice was delirious.

But Wolf wasn’t listening anymore. There was a roar of blood in his ears that blanked out any extraneous sound. He clung to Art and waited for the inevitable. His legs were trembling and he felt faint.

And then suddenly he sensed it, The Great Banyan tree, his temple, somewhere in the distance.

“GO, WOLF, LEAVE…PLEASE GO…GO!” Art’s voice was a shrill scream in his ears.

But Wolf ignored it. His heart was now open only for his scared shrine.

Then abruptly, out of nowhere, a blanket of calm descended over his head. The roar of the blood in his ears ceased and he stopped trembling. And then he involuntarily began to visualize…

He saw Maddy. What a lady! He admired her fiber—her fearlessness, her sheer audacity, her willingness to stand up to anyone and anything…to behave the way she wanted without caring a damn about niceties. This little lady had rescued Clara, that unfortunate woman trapped in a miserable fake life, and restored her to herself. And Wolf thought of her little brother, somewhere in England, limbless, and yet so full of life. He saw Stanley Knott. Wolf had gambled on him big time, and the half Black, half Hispanic man had come through for him. There could hardly be a more loyal friend in the world. His mind saw Rochelle now and he felt truly sorry for her.
Poor baby.
What hideous cards she had been dealt. And yet, he now failed to feel any hostility toward the man responsible for her tragedy, the man who was pathetically holding onto him with one shaking hand. Wolf hoped Rochelle would pick up the pieces and build a new life for herself—that she would find the strength and the spirit to do so. The sweetheart deserved some happiness for a change. He muttered a little prayer for her in his heart.

He saw Dad. Oh, he so badly wanted to touch him again. One last time. The image he had of him from a couple of hours ago wasn’t the one he wanted to take with him for the last. His heart bled for him. He wanted to take Dad in his embrace and assure him all was well. To tell him that he loved him, had never stopped loving him, that, in truth, he had
never
gone against him—tell all this to his face. He wanted to see Dad smile again. Just one more time.

And then Wolf saw the Shrine. Although it was dark, he saw it as clearly as if it were bathed in bright sunlight. It was a mile away, straight ahead of him.

He saw Savannah now. And he saw Robin. His two beautiful Butterflies. No one would separate them ever again…no one would try to snatch their happiness away any longer.

They would smile once more. Savannah and Robin and Dad and Rochelle.

The shrine was approaching at blinding speed. He felt the vehicle swerve a little and head for The Great Banyan tree. His Shrine. A most hallowed temple. He glanced at Art. He wasn’t crying anymore and his face was suddenly calm. He seemed to have finally come to terms with it. Wolf squeezed his shoulder and Art glanced at him and gave him a little sad smile, a little sad smile that said:
it’s okay, I’m fine. I’m at peace now…finally.

It wasn’t too late. He could still stop Art. It needn’t be this way. No one need die. They could start over again. All of them. Art would be a changed man. Wolf had seen the good in him. He, Wolf, would be by his side and help him change…help him be a better person. Art was his brother—Wolf would do anything for him. They could all live together in peace and in harmony. In love and in companionship. No one need get hurt ever again. The past would be buried, they would all inhale fresh breaths. Oh, how beautiful that would be.

Stop him, Wolf, stop the madness. Now!

Let’s return home, Art. Oh, Art, I love you, my brother…we’re going to be alright. Here’s to a new beginning…

Lunge for the steering wheel, Wolf, and avert it.

Stop me, Wolf, please stop me! I can’t help myself, I’ll keep harming them…that’s how I am made…that’s my inherent nature and I’m so helpless against it. I’m too huge, too powerful for them. I’ll totally ruin them. Oh, Wolf, save them, save our family… Help me, Wolf, please help me, I’m so powerless against myself…

Wolf gave a wail of utter anguish. They were almost there. He felt his bladder cramp up with terrible fear and…

He was suddenly socked from the side—as if a ten-tonner had hit him. He felt himself torn away from Art and he went flying out of the jeep. He screwed his head around at the last instant and saw it was Art.

“Go, Wolf…leave…” There was a deep sorrow in Art’s eyes.

In the weird stillness of the moment before he crash-landed, he saw the jeep pitch headlong into The Great Banyan tree, then burst into seething flames. Then as he hit the earth, Wolf felt an unbearable pain rush up his legs, go through his spine, and explode in his brain.

Logic affirms that Wolf Butcher should have died instantly that evening under The Great Banyan tree. But sometimes, the human spirit defies logic—if only rarely, if only temporarily. Wolf Butcher’s spirit didn’t allow him to die—not instantly, not in that manner. His spirit desperately sought adequate closure…and a closure with dignity. And it was granted to him by the powers that be.

Saturday, August 9, 2008.

GRANT
awoke with a jolt. For an instant, he stared straight ahead of him in the dark, then realized his cellphone was ringing.

It was the hospital.

“Mr. President, this is Dr. Alfred Snow,” a polite male voice said.

Grant’s heart stopped. “Yes?”

“Mr. Wolf just came around. He’s asking for you.”

There was a brief silence.

“Mr. President?”

“Yes, yes…I…I…shall be right over.”

He put the handset down. He sat still for a long frigid minute. Then he gave a sudden shudder and flung the blanket off him. He punched the light switch on and quickly noted it was five-twenty am.
Goodness gracious, I overslept!
He hastily shoved his feet into his slippers, then rushed out of the room and began yelling for his wife.

Grant, Estelle and Rochelle reached the hospital twenty minutes later.

Alfred Snow was waiting on the fifth floor. With him were a string of doctors. Savannah came out of the private ICU then. She had spent the night at the hospital, as she had the last eleven nights, and when she saw Grant and the others, she ran toward them.

“He is conscious!” And she fell into Grant’s arms.

Grant held her closely for a long minute. When they parted, Dr. Snow quietly accosted Grant.

“May I have a word with you, Mr. President?”

Grant hesitated. He now desperately wanted to see his son first, but the doctor obviously had something important on his mind. They went into a huddle in a corner.

“It’s a miracle he has come out. But we think it’s only temporary,” Snow said soberly.

“What do you mean?”

“The thing is that despite the revival, we don’t think he will…surv…much longer, sir.”

“Are you God, Dr. Snow?”

Dr. Snow flushed. “Of course not, Mr. President…!”

“So leave life and death in His hands. You do your darnest to save my boy’s life.”

“Yes, of course. We are doing our very best, Mr. President. I assure you we…”

“Good. Now, I would like to see him, please,” Grant cut in curtly.

.

A
fter she had surfaced from her swoon twelve days ago, a hysterical Savannah had gone tearing wildly to Grant’s room. They had all read Wolf’s letter and had desperately tried calling him on his cellphone, then on Art’s. But without luck. Frantically, the family had rushed out in one of the cars toward the highway, Grant at the wheel.

Too late.

Art had been charred to death, and Wolf, flung out of the vehicle, had survived. But it was no survival. He had been paralyzed neck down.

They had kept him alive on life-support and it wasn’t a question of how long recovery would take, but how long he would last.

.

A
s Grant uncertainly entered ICU Room 11, he found his throat going dry. He muttered a little prayer, held his breath, and went in.

He felt his heart constrict and for a second he shut his eyes.

How often over the past days he had been here beside his son, but he could never reconcile to the sight before him. Wolf’s head had been shaven and the way his face had depleted, Grant almost didn’t recognize him. The bones on his face stuck out like girder protrusions and the cheeks were craters. The robust complexion had turned a murky dark. In just twelve days, the body had wasted—a spiritless composite of brittle bones and shriveled skin.

Carefully avoiding the medical equipment, Grant lowered himself on the edge of the bed next to him. Wolf’s eyes were shut and Grant waited. The utter silence of the room suffocated him.

Then Wolf opened his eyes. He turned his head a fraction and looked in Grant’s direction. It took him a while to focus, then recognition came, and with it a hint of tears crept into his eyes. But he managed a small smile.

A lump came to Grant’s throat. But he fought it. With a major effort of will he smiled back.

Wolf’s lips parted. He wanted to say something.

Grant leaned forward and tried to listen. But he couldn’t make sense of the faint mumbling. Exhausted by the little effort, Wolf shut his eyes again, breathing heavily. Grant lowered his head miserably.
Lord, Jesus Christ, please be kind!

When Wolf opened his eyes again a while later, there was determination on his face. He gestured with a nod of his head asking Grant to come closer to his face.

“I’m sorry.” he said, his voice fragile.

Grant shook his head vigorously. He touched Wolf’s arm. The dryness in his throat made it impossible to say anything. He prayed fervently he wouldn’t break down.

“It was Art,” Wolf said. “He wouldn’t let me commit the sin. He took it upon himself. He said he had to save the family…from himself. He wanted to save me too, but I just couldn’t bring myself to desert him. How could I? He was my brother, and he was so scared and so desperately needed me.” The words came in dribbles and he had to pause every so often.

He continued, “Art said to tell you he was sorry. He said to tell you he loved you very much… He wasn’t so bad, sir. There was goodness in him deep down. But he was held captive by his own nature and was so helpless against it. He ruled the whole world…but he could not rule himself. That was his tragedy, sir.” He gasped for air. Then he added, “You know, Art wasn’t Robin’s father…it was Sage.”

Grant nodded. “We know, son,” he said. “Savannah remembered.”

Pain came to Wolf’s eyes. “Why? How could Sage do that?”

“He was a weak man. God bless his soul,” Grant said.

A bitter smile came to Wolf’s lips. “Like me,” he said.

“No, no, not at all like you, son! You are the strongest of us all.”

“How did Art fix the DNA results, do you know? He wouldn’t tell me.”

“Yes, I think I know. After the accident two years ago, he had hair and blood samples collected from each deceased family member. He said in that way he could keep them alive. The hair samples he kept with himself—we found them in his locker. The blood samples were kept frozen at New Halcyon Laboratories. For a man in his position, it would not be difficult to beat the strictest chain-of-custody procedures.”

Wolf sighed. “You know, Art had made out his entire Will to you. And in the end he never changed it,” he said. “Despite everything, he never stopped caring for you.”

Grant sniffed. He could barely breathe. Misery burned his lungs.

“There is one thing I want you to promise me, sir,” Wolf said.

“Anything, son, please just say.”

“I want you to correct the wrong done by Sage.”

“I shall,” Grant said earnestly, squeezing Wolf’s lifeless arm. “Savannah and Robin are already living at Butcher Garden. I insisted. Now we are all waiting for you to return home.”

Suddenly, Wolf’s face relaxed. “Thank you,” he whispered. He regarded Grant fondly for a long time. Then he added, “I love you, Dad.” And he shut his eyes again.