Chase The Butterflies

by Monica James

  He bites my mouth, eliciting a guttural moan from deep within. “We have company.”

  “We have…oh.” He doesn’t need to explain. My cheeks flush as I quickly straighten my clothes and hair.

  Once I’m decent, and Jude’s tucked his shirt back into his pants, I gingerly peer over his shoulder to see Angus on the lawn, flying his kite. “How did you…?” I don’t bother asking, as Jude seems to be in tune with the world.

  I have so many questions regarding Angus, but I don’t want to push.

  Jude helps me stand, and we make our way over to where he happily plays. When he sees us, his sweet little face lights up. “Hey, buddy.” Angus waves and signs quickly to Jude.

  We’re a few feet away when I pause, a realization dawning on me. We were yards away when Jude addressed Angus, too far away for him to lip read. Our first encounter flashes before me, and I remember how terrified he was. I thought it was because he was getting bullied and because I inadvertently mentioned Rose, but I now know that’s not the case at all.

  Angus was indeed scared because of the bullies, but not because he wasn’t brave. It was because those bullies were ghosts—ghosts he could hear. “He’s not deaf, is he?” I ask, almost in a state of tears.

  “No, he’s not.” I don’t press any further because Angus waves me over, gesturing I’m to take over as kite captain.

  “Hey, little wombat,” I sign, not wanting anything between us to change.

  His dimpled grin melts my heart. “I missed you,” he signs, passing me the spool.

  “I missed you, too.” I remember all the tips Angus taught me, full of pride when the kite takes to the wind. Jude cuddles his son tightly, kissing the top of his head, reveling in his fragrance as they both watch me.

  As they chat amongst themselves about everyday father and son stuff, I think over everything that didn’t make a lick of sense. But now, I understand it all. The night we went to the movies, Jude could see the connection Angus and I shared, especially when he asked me to be his date for the dance. We were getting too close, which would have been fine if our circumstances were different. The entire town already thinks Angus is a freak, so I can only imagine the city being rife with rumors if he turned up to the dance with an imaginary date on his arm.

  From Angus’s lack of speech, I think it’s safe to assume he was born this way. I knew he was special, but this just confirms it. It seems both Angus and I can see dead people.

  Angus laughs, drawing my attention to the limp butterfly dragging along the grass. Looks like I better leave it to the pros. “Can I play with Jӓg?” he asks Jude, who nods. He runs off happily, none the wiser that I’m seconds away from scooping him up into my arms and never letting go.

  Jude walks over to me, scratching his heavy scruff. He appears nervous, apprehensive to how I might react to the bombshell he just dropped. Even though Angus may not be theoretically deaf, hearing spirits daily is enough of a reason to switch off. I have no doubt he can still hear them, but signing might deter them from talking so much. He hides beneath this ruse. Maybe he’s hoping if he can mute them, if he shuts them out, that eventually, they’ll go away.

  “Are you all right? Jesus, I seem to be asking you that a lot lately.” Jude runs a hand through his hair, leaving a mohawk in its wake.

  I rub my arms, suddenly feeling a chill. “I’m okay. I just…wow.”

  “I know. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I just…there was just so much going on, and I didn’t want to add to the shit pile.”

  I step into his open arms. “How long has this been going on?”

  “Since he was born. It was evident by age three his imaginary friends weren’t so imaginary.”

  “What?” My heart sinks even further.

  “I always knew he was special, but Rose, she refused to accept it. She didn’t want to deal with special. Neither did Henry, which is ironic, considering his current predicament.” He sighs. “Rose took him to see doctors, but it was all done in secret. She didn’t want her name attached to the stigma of a boy who was different. The doctors confirmed he wasn’t deaf. They said to give him time, as his behavioral issues could be linked to autism or other learning disabilities. But as time went on, it was obvious something wasn’t right. Rose would try to force him to speak, but that only made him retreat further into his shell.” His lip curls in disgust. “I didn’t know what was wrong, but I did know he was special. I tried to talk to him, but how do I try to explain something I don’t fully understand? How do I explain to him that he can see and hear dead people?

  “He’s always been a strong boy, but Rose ignored it, pretended it wasn’t there. I didn’t know where to send him because he wasn’t a lab rat, and I wouldn’t allow doctors to treat him that way. He was ostracized enough. The only thing I could do was respect his decision to switch off and send him to a school that would cater to his needs. They taught him sign language, and for the first time in my life, I finally saw my son happy. The teachers were wonderful. They made an exception because of who Angus was.” He sighs. “But I was stupid. I should have taken him away years ago. I regret my decision to stay every single day. Rose didn’t understand. I told her what I believed was happening and why he chose to be the way he was. But she refused to believe it, ignoring his wishes, and in turn, she just disregarded the issue at hand. She treated him like an idiot, but he’s the smartest person I know.”

  His lament is clear, but I suppose he did what he thought was right.

  “I know you’ve been wondering why Rose left. Well, it was because she was sick of special. Just like the rest of this small-minded town, she thought Angus was a freak.”

  I feel ill inside.

  I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me, considering the person Rose has been painted to be, but still, that is just so cruel. It’s also cowardly. “She doesn’t deserve him. I’d give anything to have a child as remarkable as Angus. She sees his gift as a curse, but I see it as him being chosen, acknowledged as someone who is special.”

  “I don’t think I could possibly love you more than I do right now.”

  It feels nice to be loved. Even when engaged to Bryan, I never felt this kind of connection. But I guess Jude and I share something pretty incredible.

  “Do you think his specialness is due to the accident?” Debra mentioned Rose running off the road the night Angus was born. It might explain why he has this extraordinary gift.

  Jude exhales, the memory still raw. “I don’t know, but I guess it could be the reason. What I do know is that regardless of his limitations, nothing will stop that boy. He’ll make me proud. My side of the family certainly doesn’t have any psychic abilities,” he adds as an afterthought. I pull back and arch a brow. He smirks, the sight setting my body alight.

  Turning serious, I ask a question which has been playing on my mind. “Why didn’t you leave after Rose left?”

  “Because this is Angus’s home. He likes his school, and for the most part, people, living and otherwise, leave him alone. Can you imagine moving someplace like New York? LA? Angus wouldn’t last five minutes.”

  He’s right.

  “Does Angus know…what we are?”

  Jude blows out a hollow breath. “What you are is exceptional.” He kisses the top of my head. “But I think so…I just haven’t been able to tell him. Each time I do, I think about what I―” He takes another breath. “What I ultimately have to do.” He means saying goodbye. “I’m just not ready to take that final step.”

  We stand huddled together, enjoying something that feels beyond words. Just as I’m about to fall asleep standing up, Angus runs over, signing faster than a freight train.

  Jude lets go, looking at me with concern because he knows what my reply will be. “That sounds great, Angus. Tell Grandpa we’d love to have dinner tonight.” Angus runs off, fist pumping his delight.

  When he’s out of earshot, Jude clucks his tongue. “Are you sure about this?”

  “Yes,” I reply firmly. “He deserves
to know. What he decides to do with the information is entirely up to him. We can lead a horse to water…”

  “When did you get so smart?” he teases with a lopsided smirk.

  “Right around the time you told me you loved me,” I reply, never missing a beat.

  At 6:59 p.m., Angus, Jude, and I stand at Henry’s front door. I get a terrible sense of déjà vu.

  Tonight can go one of two ways—bloody brilliant or a bloody mess. I’m really hoping it’s not the latter.

  The door opens, interrupting my thoughts. Henry stands before it, stunned to see both Jude and me. We make no secret that we’re crashing dinner. Just as Henry’s lips shape into a deeper scowl, I cheerfully step forward and give him a loose hug. “Thanks for inviting us.”

  “You were not―”

  “Whatever’s cooking, it smells simply delicious. I’m starved.” I push past him, hoping he and Jude don’t fight before we step through the door.

  The home looks exactly how I remember it, down to the smell of roast lamb. Jude’s comment about Jillian losing her mind has me wondering just how bad she is. The fact Henry acts like he would if he were alive makes me think he’s slowly driving Jillian over the edge. He’s haunting his own home, and as a result, he’s haunting his wife. Poor Jillian.

  “Where’s Jillian?” I ask, subtly peering around the room.

  “She’s upstairs getting changed.” He tugs at the collar of his crisp shirt.

  Angus switches on the TV in the living room, making himself at home, while it’s anything but homey in here as Jude and Henry glare at each other something fierce. “Why are you here?”

  “Because we need to talk.” Jude folds his arms across his chest, not at all impressed.

  Henry scoffs. “Unless you have something I want to hear, then you’re wasting my time.”

  Great. Let the mediation commence. “Henry, I’d really like some wine.” I’m being awfully bossy and rude, but it’s the only thing I can think of to stop them from fighting.

  He clenches his jaw, but nods, leading us into the kitchen silently.

  When we march into the kitchen, Jude stands while I take a seat at the breakfast bar. As Henry is pouring us each a glass of wine, my gaze floats to the refrigerator and the invite which sits on the silver door. I know without a doubt Jude and I will need all the ammo we can arm ourselves with to convince Henry that things are not what they seem.

  “The ball is tomorrow?” I gesture with my chin to the invitation.

  Henry nods, but something in his demeanor tells me he’s not as excited as he should be to attend. “Yes, but I’m not sure if I will attend. Jillian hasn’t been feeling well.”

  “Oh, that’s awful. I’m so sorry to hear that. What’s wrong?”

  He takes a sip of wine before passing me my glass. “She has been complaining of migraines, and she’s unable to sleep. The doctor said she’s suffering from insomnia. She hasn’t been herself since Rose left.” He doesn’t keep the contempt from his tone as he glares at Jude.

  I hold my breath, waiting for an explosion, but thankfully, there isn’t one…well, for now, anyway.

  When Henry’s gaze turns soft, I know what’s about to occur. “There she is…my love.”

  Jillian staggers into the kitchen, looking like a ghost of her former self. While she once emitted radiance, she now looks lost, clouded. She’s wearing the same cream dress I saw her in nights ago, but her long snarled hair hangs scrappily around her drawn face.

  Jillian announces in a robotic tone, “I hope you like lamb. It’s Henry’s favorite.” Once upon a time, I thought she was talking to me, but now I can see she’s talking to no one. She’s talking to herself. She’s acting out an event which once took place when Henry was alive.

  Surely, Henry can see her wasting away before his eyes. If she continues this way, she’ll be joining him very soon. I try my best to smile, but I just want to cry.

  Henry leads us into the dining room, his lips pulled in tight. I dart for the chair next to Jude’s because I’m not interested in playing Rose for the night. Henry clenches his jaw. He’s obviously not too happy I’ve strayed from his plans.

  Jillian enters a moment later, the front of her cream dress coated in a brown liquid where she obviously spilled the gravy. She hobbles over to the table, setting the food down with shaky hands. She takes her place, looking lovingly and reminiscently over to Henry. He mistakes the gesture as her doting on him, rather than see what’s really going on.

  Closing my eyes, I focus just how I did when I saw that world through Jude’s eyes. The room transforms from light to dark, showcasing what’s actually happening underneath the fictitious layer we see. There is rotten meat, decaying vegetables, and mountains of dinnerware scattered across the tabletop. The tablecloth is blemished with stains that have been there for months. A vase of wilted wildflowers lays knocked over in the center of the table, the same flowers I saw when dining here before. I wonder how long she’s been living this way. The military precision I once remarked on now looks like a wasteland of broken dreams. I suppress a scream when a cockroach scurries across the table.

  Jillian sits staring vacantly at Henry’s chair. A memory must cross her mind because she smiles. She may be alive, but she may as well be lost in our world because her will to live is long gone. I want to reach out and comfort her, but I don’t.

  Jude’s reassurance in the way of a gentle touch against my thigh has everything returning to an alternative reality— Henry’s reality. Dark becomes light once more. I discreetly wipe my eyes.

  Jillian recites the same prayer I heard weeks ago while I shake my head. This is getting almost unbearable.

  “The dead see what they want to see, and right now, Henry’s feelings are influencing what we see,” Jude whispers, evidently able to read my anguish. “He’s distorting reality.”

  “Is it always this way?”

  He doesn’t reply for the longest of moments. But when he does, I understand why the pause. “Sometimes.”

  Henry ignores Jude and me and begins talking to Jillian about his day. He speaks to her as he would if he actually did the things he claimed he did. Jillian sits and stares, her hands crossed in her lap. Henry reads her docility as interest while I break through the façade and see her true form. She’s broken and vacant. Nothing is going in. Nothing is coming out.

  “How long has she been this way?”

  “Since Rose, but it got worse once Henry…” He leaves the sentence unfinished. “She sits here, talking to herself every night. She is acting out a normal family dinner as if Henry were alive. She lives in this decay, stuck in a loop, while Henry sees it as anything but that.”

  “We have to help her. He’s haunting her.”

  Jude nods. “To help her, we have to help him.” He doesn’t hide his struggle.

  Henry slows down his chewing, the room suddenly dropping to a sub-zero climate. “Something wrong with your lamb?” He points at Jude’s dinner with his knife.

  Jude pushes his plate out in front of him, leaning casually back in his chair. “No, I love lamb. But you must be sick of it, seeing as it’s all you’ve eaten for the past nine months.”

  I close my eyes and rub the bridge of my nose.

  Henry sits tall. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

  Jude glares at him like he’s an imbecile. “Oh, c’mon. You don’t think things have been a little weird around here? Maybe even a little Groundhog Day-ish?”

  Henry huffs. “The only weird thing around here is you bringing your date to my home. Have you no respect? Look how you’ve upset Jillian.” On cue, Jillian sobs, covering her face with her hands.

  “I’m not the one who’s upset Jillian. You have.” He folds his arms defiantly.

  “I beg your pardon!” Henry stands, kicking back his seat. “I will not allow you to speak this way to me in my own home. Leave.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Jude states firmly. “I may have had to put up with your shit when Ro
se was around, but now that she’s not, I have no qualms about telling you what an asshole you are!”

  I cover my mouth as I peer up at the ceiling, conceding defeat.

  Henry stabs a finger into his chest. “I’m an asshole? How dare you? You’re the one who drove Rose away!”

  Henry’s comment was intent on wounding Jude, but all I see in Jude’s bearing is annoyance. “Wake up, Henry! Rose left because she’s a self-centered bitch. She doesn’t care about anyone but herself.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Yes, it is true. You’re so damn blind. She left us behind because she couldn’t care less whether we live or die.” I taste his pain.

  Henry refuses to believe that. “She may not care about you, but―”

  “But what? She loves you? Jillian? Have you seen what she’s done to Jillian?” Jude points at Jillian, who is still weeping.

  “We’re her family.” The fire behind Henry’s arguments is slowing burning out.

  “She has a new family now,” Jude reveals. “One that includes a grandchild you’ve never met!” He stands, thumping his fist onto the table. My heart hurts, remembering his pain when he found out the truth while Henry looks as though he’s about to be sick.

  “What are you talking about? How do you know that?”

  Jude realizes he’s said too much. “Nothing. Forget I said anything.”

  But Henry’s not about to forget. The corded veins in his neck pop. “You son of a bitch. You know where she is, don’t you?”

  Jude raises his eyes to the ceiling, fed up with this pointless conversation. “No, I don’t. If only you’d open your eyes and see”—he sweeps a hand around the room—“then you’d understand what your epic asshole behavior is doing to everyone.”

  “Oh, my eyes are open.” He glares at me like I’m public enemy number one. “Get out of here, the both of you. Leave my grandson. He deserves to live a normal life, not with an adulterous father and a home wrecking whore.”