by Rona Jameson
My beautiful butterfly girl.
6
WREN
THE REVEREND IS LOCKED in his office before he leaves for church. He always appears busy, which sometimes baffles me considering how small of a community we are. I never ask because he’ll take it as an accusation, and he’ll think I’m accusing him of not having time for me. I don’t want his time focused on me. At one time I had, but the thought makes me break into a cold sweat now.
Sighing, I step into the early morning sun and feel my heart lift with joy when my eyes immediately focus on my glasshouse. The structure has been there for a very long time, since before I was born. It had needed some care and maintenance. The hard work I had put into it has paid off, and even the Reverend had been impressed. It has become a talking point for him during sermons. It’s the only time I pay full attention—not that I let it show.
Tiger Lily appears in front of my face, so I lift a hand and let him perch on my finger. His delicate wings ease to a stop and when the sun catches them, he’s dazzling. As I slowly move down the path, more of my butterflies appear through the slightly open doorway. I haven’t even gotten inside the glasshouse, and I’m covered in about twenty of my delicate friends.
“How do you do that?”
I whirl around.
The boy stands on his side of the bordering fence. I can see him more clearly now. His black eyes trail over my body as he takes in the butterflies attached to me. He has a scar that goes from the corner of his right eye, over his cheek, and then comes to a stop beneath his jaw. Another one goes from his right eyebrow into his hairline.
What happened to him?
He makes a noise in the back of his throat, and hisses, “It’s rude to stare!”
My hackles rise. “So why were you?” I gasp in shock and sharply glance toward the house.
I spoke to a stranger! Even worse, I spoke to a boy!
Said boy ignores my question and tilts his head, watching me. “You’re unusual,” he says. His eyes focus on Tiger Lily. “She your favorite?”
I nod, and the urge to move away before the Reverend catches me close to this boy has my head dropping. I start to turn away and, to my surprise, the boy snags the back of my T-shirt. “Wait! What’s your name?”
“Wren,” I whisper and turn back around, his hand falling away. “I shouldn’t be talking to you.”
He frowns and glances at the house before he continues, “I’m Rafael.” He doesn’t smile and I sense he wants to ask something. He briefly meets my eyes and looks away. “What’s the school like?” That hadn’t been the question he’d first thought of—I’m sure of it.
I shrug and, feeling confident, tip my head to the side. It’s him who gives me the confidence when I speak with him—this boy who is shrouded in darkness.
Confused at the feelings rushing through me, I state, “You look too old for school.”
His jaw clenches tightly, and he grinds out, “I missed a lot of school, so I have to catch up to graduate.” I notice a slight slump in his shoulders before he shakes it off.
“School is the same anywhere, I guess.” I take a step back. “I need to check on the glasshouse.” I take another step backwards while Rafael tracks me with his eyes. I know this because mine never leave his, and my breathing changes in a way I’m not familiar with.
The sound of footsteps approaching from behind Rafael snaps my attention away. It’s his father. His movements are swift and confident. I get the feeling nothing would faze this man. He has compelling dark eyes, like his son, with firm features. His short curling hair is gray in places, and black in others. Welcome and warmth shine in his gaze as he moves to stand beside his son.
He gives his son a sidelong glance before holding his hand out, and stills. “You’re covered in butterflies,” he mumbles. “I’ve only seen this—” He shakes his head and looks at me in a weird way—as though he’s seen a ghost. “Where have my manners gone? I’m Marcel DeLacroix, Rafael’s father.”
I swallow hard, knowing I’m going to be in trouble for talking to them, but I can’t turn tail and run back to the house or my glasshouse to hide. The damage has been done after talking to Rafael. I like that name.
I quickly step forward and accept Marcel’s handshake. His fingers are cool and slightly calloused as he wraps my much smaller hand up in his. His eyes are wary, but I think seeing me with the butterflies really surprised him.
Retreating slightly, he states, “You two should walk to school together in the morning.”
Rafael glares at his father while I stare in horror.
I couldn’t! The Reverend would kill me.
“That will not be happening.” The Reverend’s voice booms across the garden.
I visibly pale as air whooshes out of my mouth. My head spins along with my stomach as I fight the nausea flooding me. The butterflies fly from me in one desperate attempt to get away from the noise. They’ll go back into the glasshouse.
Rafael’s head snaps to the Reverend, and his jaw clenches tightly as I sense the Reverend move in close.
Marcel hardens his features. “Reverend, I had no idea we lived so close to you,” he comments, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
They both know each other. How?
“I find that hard to believe,” the Reverend snaps and grabs hold of my arm tight enough to leave a bruise. “Inside.” He drags me across the garden.
“Nice to meet you,” Marcel sarcastically shouts.
Through the whole exchange, I felt Rafael’s gaze boring into me. It’s as though he’s angry with me when I haven’t done anything.
I cast one quick glance in his direction before I’m dragged inside, the back door slamming behind us. The Reverend pushes me so hard in his anger that I lose my balance. I slam into the steel rod attached to the oven door on my way down to the floor—my hip taking the brunt of the fall. Pain shoots through me as the rod pierces my skin. Clenching my teeth, I try not to cry out even though tears leak from my eyes. My hip screams in pain as I move to a sitting position. I’m shocked at the suddenness of his violence. It was like it was unplanned, and the Reverend never does anything unplanned. When he hurts me, whether with words, or his rules, or the basement, or physically, it’s slow and methodical, deliberate. The Reverend was not a man ruled by his emotions.
“You never speak to them!” The Reverend stands over me with his fists clenching at his sides. His face turns bright red as he continues, “You stay away from that boy and his father. They are not good people and should have never been allowed that house.”
Who left them that house? It has been vacant for as long as I can remember.
The Reverend crouches and gets in my face. “Stay. Away. Wren. You hear me?”
“Yes, sir.” I keep my eyes on him because if I cower it will just give him an excuse to put me in the basement.
He pulls back slightly and breathes heavily until he visibly calms, then he moves away. “Get out of my sight.” He hesitates, and with one last glance, disappears into his office.
Feeling shaky, I roll to my knees and grab hold of the kitchen counter. My hands slip twice but, eventually, I manage to stand. My hip continues to throb as I go upstairs to my room.
My hands tremble as I pull my dress off over my head and move into the bathroom. The dress will be ruined if I can’t get the blood out of the material. I chance a glance at my hip and grimace. The gash is several inches long and deep. Blood oozes from it and is soaking through my panties.
With the sink half filled with cold water, I scrub at the stain on my dress and sigh as it becomes fainter. I’ll leave it to soak during the day. Taking my panties off, I add them to the water and scrub them in the same desperate way. Hopefully the soaking will save my clothing.
I shiver as a cool breeze slips through my partly opened window. Slipping into a fresh pair of panties, I leave them around my lower hip so I can clean up the gash. It has started to bruise around the edges. I retrieve the first aid kit from the
drawer of my desk and sit on the end of the bed. The antiseptic wipe causes me to hiss in pain as I dab along the open wound. It will be tricky getting a padded dressing to stay on because of the area. I manage but wince when I think about the tape coming off.
I catch sight of the clock on my desk as I put the first aid kit away—I’ve taken too long. I have chores to do outside.
With ease, I pull my panties on properly and gently get them situated on my left side, so it won’t hurt. I tug on a pair of loose-fitting shorts and a blouse. I slip on a pair of dark blue ballerina pumps. And that’s when I see him. Rafael DeLacroix. He leans out of his bedroom window and looks straight at me through my open bedroom window.
My breath catches in the back of my throat and I struggle to turn away. When I do my cheeks have a deep crimson color to them and I feel completely embarrassed. He saw me moving around in my bedroom. I’m not sure how to feel about that. I’m startled, and I should be angry but, I don’t think I am. I’m embarrassed and hope he’ll never mention seeing me.
Nothing makes sense about how I feel about the boy I’ve only just met.
7
RAFAEL
THE BUTTERFLY GIRL is as beautiful up close as she is from a distance, if not more so. Her eyes are a mixture of ocean blue and green, so unusual that I struggled to look away when I had been close to her. The way those eyes had run over me had left my body hot and tight. I’ve never experienced tightness like this before, and that alone should scare me. It doesn’t. We have hardly exchanged words and I want more.
I wince when I bend to rest my hands on the sill of my window. I have a perfect view of Wren’s house. My thoughts of her father are worse than before. He had reacted in a public way toward Wren and that bothered me. The Reverend is known as someone who keeps his emotions under a tight lock and key. That hadn’t been the case earlier. I’m afraid for Wren, the girl I don’t know but feel a connection with.
Movement suddenly catches my eye from Wren’s bedroom. She walks past her window and disappears. A few moments later she reappears, and I nearly fall out of my window. She wears only her underwear. I blink a few times to clear the shock, but nothing works. She turns and I watch as she pushes her panties down to her upper thighs. I swallow my tongue when my gaze moves upward. I’m not a voyeur, but I can’t move my gaze away. She is beautiful.
She straightens and turns fully to the window, giving me a view I don’t think I’ll ever forget. My heart thumps against my breastbone as I force myself to move away from the window.
With my hands on my hips, I pace back and forth in my room trying to get myself under control. Getting close to Wren is going to be easy, but difficult on my conscience. I don’t want to use her to get to her father. I want her to be one of the good guys. I need her to be one of the good guys. Maybe she is and has been waiting for someone to come along and rescue her. I want inside her head so I know I can trust her. However, I have to be patient.
“What’s taking you so long?” Dad yells from the landing below.
We have to head into the next town over for groceries and so Dad can meet up with a friend of his. After meeting Wren, I don’t want to go. I want to sneak around to Wren’s spot and watch her. It’s magical when she’s with her butterflies.
Tomorrow at school, my deception will start, and I hate knowing I’ll have to befriend her to get to her father. I want to befriend her for myself.
But it’s too late to do anything else. I’ve made a deal with Dad. It’s my own fault really, I’d agreed to pretend to be in high school so I could keep my eyes and ears open at the school. That was the only way I could convince my Dad to let me come with him. He isn’t comfortable with me being here, despite my three years of self-defense training and being weapons certified. Dad made sure I’m capable of looking after myself. The training started right after we’d buried Mom and Roman. That time in my life isn’t pleasant and it isn’t something I ever want to repeat. We are so close but so far away from catching the bastards responsible for such an evil act. I think maybe I want payback more than Dad does. It eats away at me like an ulcer.
Dad continues to mutter downstairs about sons, so I take pity on him and clamber down to the ground floor. I certainly get enough exercise running up and down two flights of stairs a few hundred times a day.
“You have everything?”
“Like what?” I roll my eyes. “Don’t need anything since I’m not going.” I grin, feeling amused.
Dad raises a brow when he notices me. I head toward him and my grin widens when he watches me warily. I quickly give him a peck on the cheek and laugh. “Have a nice day, dear,” I drawl.
He laughs, and reaches out and grabs my wrist, becoming serious. “Did you think it…strange to see the butterflies? And all over Wren? It freaked me out.”
The funeral isn’t something I want to think about unless I have to, but the butterflies around Wren have thrown me too. “I noticed them, and I remembered the last time we’d seen something similar.” I won’t meet his gaze.
“Do you think they’re the same ones?”
“I didn’t think they lived long,” I comment. “Not three years anyway.”
“It doesn’t sit well with me that we saw…what we did after the funeral, only to find the people responsible for your mother’s and brother’s deaths, and there are butterflies again. It’s too much of a coincidence. Because I know what we saw isn’t a general occurrence. It’s unheard of—I know that. I’d researched it for days after what we’d seen. It’s unnatural.”
“I don’t think we’ll ever get an explanation about something so beautiful. It was gone within a few seconds. If you hadn’t seen it too, I’d have thought I’d imagined it. But we both know we didn’t.” I sigh and move to the front door. “I’ll keep my ears open about the butterflies.”
Nodding, Dad turns back to the hall table to pick up his keys. I step outside. That’s when I spot Wren disappearing into the trees at the back of her house, and my feet follow her.
Moments later, Dad shouts, “Don’t get up to trouble,” as he climbs into his car. From over my shoulder, I see him glance toward where Wren has disappeared before his eyes land on me. He shakes his head. He knows I’m strong-willed and will do what I want.
I won’t do anything to screw up our plan.
That is something I won’t do.
8
WREN
I SLIP OUT BACK, treading carefully in a straight line to the glasshouse so that the Reverend won’t see me from his office. As soon as I reach the entrance, I go right around the back of it toward the forest behind. The moment I step foot into the shaded trees, three butterflies land on my shoulder. I smile and hope Tiger Lily follows too. He won’t but I hope. I’ve discovered that Tiger Lily doesn’t like dark areas. The others aren’t as fussy.
The Reverend has no understanding of the butterflies and why they react to me in the way they do. I have no clue about their reaction either, but I care about them. The Reverend hates anything he can’t explain. He had, at one time, wanted them dead and gone, and it had been the only time I’d stood up to him. He hadn’t liked it and he’d only relented and allowed them to stay because his followers had complimented him on the beautiful garden and tiny creatures. There was no other reason. He doesn’t care whether or not I’m happy. At the beginning, it had been about his followers and gaining their respect and approval. Now, it’s because he’s too busy with the church and everything that entails—whatever that might be—to do anything about them. Thank goodness for that.
We’re not a rich town, but I’ve brought color in abundance with my garden. Part of me wonders whether he doesn’t want another real confrontation with me. At least, that’s what I tell myself. In reality, the Reverend can choose to get rid of my oasis with the snap of his fingers and I won’t be able to do anything about it.
Closing my eyes, I tilt my head toward the sky and inhale deeply. Slowly, I exhale. Each breath brings an opening within me. I can feel my body easi
ng, the sharp pain in my hip fading to a dull pulse and then to nothing. I take another breath and slowly start to feel better. The Reverend always manages to get my hackles up with his temper. But then he leaves me alone and I’m torn. I don’t want his attention, but I’m so alone that I hardly ever need to speak. I, of course, speak to my butterflies and they seem to listen. They have no clue what I say, but I hold their attention. The breathing exercises work, the calm spreading through me as I sense Tiger Lily drawing close. I can’t explain the feeling he arises in me with his presence. However, the tingles in my arms are real, along with the tiny movement from the hair on my arm as he slowly flutters toward me.
I don’t want to scare him off with my excitement, so I stop myself from turning my head to look at him. In the end, I don’t need to because he lands on the tip of my nose. A place that he has recently chosen as his spot. Keeping my breathing even, I slowly open my eyes and smile when I see the beautiful orange color shimmering around him.
“Hello, sweet angel,” I whisper, hardly daring to move. “You’re becoming brave.”
His tiny head tilts from side to side as though he knows I’m talking to him and he’s trying to figure out what I’m saying.
“You have a special connection with them?”
My face blazes with heat. Not only is he here, in this place that is mine alone, but he saw me in my bedroom. I freeze to the spot as my heart picks up speed, racing in my chest as quickly as thoughts of confusion whirl in my mind. The boy from next door is a conundrum that I want to explore as much as I want to run from it.
I had felt safe, or rather safer, talking to him in the back garden, but in the dark forest with only slithers of sunlight filtering through the thick branches, I feel uneasy. I’m alone with a boy for the first time in my life and I don’t know what to do or say. I feel awkward, but not as much as the picture I make with the butterflies and my stillness.